claims are good around here, it won't be long before they are
taken up," said Foster Portney. "For, as you can see, men are pouring in
over the mountains every day, not to say anything of those who make the
long trip by way of the ocean and up the Yukon."

"Well, I'm just crazy to get to work," declared Randy. "Just think of
the gold lying around ready to be picked up!"

His uncle smiled. Poor Randy! Little did he dream of the many backaches
and privations in store for him.

To the left of the river there now arose a long chain of hills and
mountains, sloping gradually to the water's edge; on the right were
smaller hills and great marshes, fairly choked with bushes and wild
growths of vines and flowers. The tundra was everywhere, and over all
circled flocks and flocks of wild birds, a few mosquitoes, and something
they had not yet seen--horseflies. The horseflies were black and green
in color, and a bite from one of them made Captain Zoss utter a mighty
yell of pain. "It was like the stab of a dagger!" he declared
afterwards, and so angry did the bite become, and so painful, that the
doctor was called upon to treat it with a soothing lotion.

It was after seven o'clock, but still daylight, when Dr. Barwaithe
raised his hand for the others to become silent. "Listen!" he said. "I
think I heard a steamboat whistle. Ah! I was right. A boat is on the
river!"

A few minutes passed, and they heard the whistle again. Then Earl
pointed ahead excitedly. "There's the boat, and she is tied up to the
river bank. There are half a dozen buildings and fifty tents or more.
I'll wager it's Dawson!"

With hearts which beat quickly they sailed forward, using the oars to
make the _Wild Goose_ move the faster. Another turn of the stream and
the mining town could be seen quite plainly. Ten minutes later they ran
up just behind the steamboat and tied fast. The long trip was at an end.
The new diggings, with all their golden hopes, lay before them.

CHAPTER XXI.

A DAY IN DAWSON CITY.

At the time of which I write, Dawson City was little better than a rude
mining camp, containing, as has been previously mentioned, a half dozen
board buildings and fifty tents, strung along what was known as the
principal "street." Back in the timber land a rude saw-mill had been set
up, and this was beginning to get out lumber at the moderate price of
one hundred and twenty-five dollars per thousand feet!

A year before Dawson City had been