s with warm, bright sunshine, and the hills were
brilliantly colored.

One morning we approached the towering Roquett Rock, so named by
Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka in his explorations down the Yukon years
before, and connected with which is an Indian legend of some interest.

This immense rock (so the story runs) once formed a part of the western
shore of the Yukon, and was one of a pair of towering cliffs of about
the same size, and with similar characteristics. Here the two huge
cliffs lived for many geological periods in wedded bliss as man and
wife, until finally family dissensions invaded the rocky household, and
ended by the stony-hearted husband kicking his wrangling wife into the
distant plain, and changing the course of the great river so that it
flowed between them, to emphasize the perpetual divorce. The cliff and
the rock are still known as "the old man" and "the old woman," the
latter standing in isolation upon a low, flat island with the muddy
Yukon flowing on both sides.

At this time of the year the days in Alaska grow perceptibly shorter,
and we were not surprised to find dusky twilight at five in the
afternoon, and to notice the eerie loneliness of the dark, sweet scented
woods a few hours later, when the steamer lay tied to the river's bank.

One night after dinner a number of passengers sat idly about in the
saloon of our steamer. Many had grown tired of cards, or had lost their
money, and, finding themselves pitted against more lucky players, had
called a halt and looked for other occupation. Miners lounged about,
chatting of the gold mines, their summer's work and experiences. Big
Curly and his little black-eyed wife listened attentively for a time.

The old miner was a born story teller, and knew a good yarn when he
heard it. The boat was tied up for the night, and all was quiet around
us. It was the time and place for a story.

At last Big Curly hitched his chair out farther from the wall, and
placed his feet comfortably upon the rungs; then, shifting his tobacco
from one cheek to the other, he asked if any one present had heard the
story of Nelson and the ghost. No one had heard it, and, after some
coaxing, this is the tale he told.

The Ghost of Forty Mile.

Alaska has long smiled over old Indian legends, but Yukon men are still
puzzling over the nocturnal rambles of the ghost of a murdered man in
the Forty Mile District. Following the excitement of the discovery of
Bonanza Bar and