ng
through the canvas did full duty. Mining tools formed a large and
conspicuous part of the supplies of the incoming prospectors, for they
were to exploit a certain rich section of country still in its
virginity, and there were no trading posts near.

In the multitude there were men, women and children. There were outfits
costing hundreds and even thousands of dollars, but all were full of
eager expectancy; for were they not coming to one of the richest
gold-bearing sections in Alaska? And had not their funds preceeded them
for the purchase of claims soon now to be opened up by them?

It was small wonder that they were light hearted and worked early and
late to get to the desired place. All carried descriptions of the famous
creek and its surroundings, and each day eyes were strained in a
westerly direction in the hope of catching a first glimpse of the
promised land.

They had come from the Nome country, and a dozen different states
besides; the Pacific coast being largely represented. They were there by
scores from farms, from shops, from colleges, and from the great cities,
and all were filled with highest anticipations.

They were looking for the creek called Midas.

They found it.

Dunbar and Gibbs were not there, but the granite mountains were. Many of
the first prospectors to ascend the creek left their outfits and poled
even farther in small boats. Many miles they toiled between banks so
close and around curves so sharp that there was small chance for turning
a tiny craft; but on all sides it was the same.

Winding in and out between great boulders of granite which had in some
tremendous upheaval of nature been tossed aloft like snowballs from the
hands of a schoolboy, the waters of this creek struggled, icy and
sullen.

A tall and distinguished looking gentleman sat in the stern of a boat
while his men laboriously poled. He was from London. He had outfitted a
party of men in Nome many months before, and had come to find his gold
claims.

No staking ground had been done. Close under a clump of pines the
remains of a white man's camp in the shape of tin food cans, and broken
cob pipes were found; while scattered near were the leaves of an old
notebook and rudely traced map.

No further proof was needed. It was the identical creek called Midas by
Dunbar and Gibbs.

It was well for them that they were not there.

The heart of Alaska in winter! It is more than pen can describe. Its
beauty, grandeur