rowned upon the Indian wives, while
the other women became mild and walked humbly. There were cowards who
became ashamed of their ancient covenants with the daughters of the
soil, who looked with a new distaste upon their dark-skinned children;
but there were also others--men--who remained true and proud of their
aboriginal vows. When it became the fashion to divorce the native
wives. Cal Galbraith retained his manhood, and in so doing felt the
heavy hand of the women who had come last, knew least, but who ruled
the land.

One day, the Upper Country, which lies far above Circle City, was
pronounced rich. Dog-teams carried the news to Salt Water; golden
argosies freighted the lure across the North Pacific; wires and cables
sang with the tidings; and the world heard for the first time of the
Klondike River and the Yukon Country. Cal Galbraith had lived the years
quietly. He had been a good husband to Madeline, and she had blessed
him. But somehow discontent fell upon him; he felt vague yearnings for
his own kind, for the life he had been shut out from--a general sort of
desire, which men sometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime of
living. Besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of the
wonderful El Dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs and
tents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha-quas who had rushed in and
were stampeding the whole country.

Circle City was dead. The world had moved on up river and become a new
and most marvelous world.

Cal Galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished to see
with his own eyes.

So, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred pounds of dust
on the Company's big scales, and took a draft for the same on Dawson.
Then he put Tom Dixon in charge of his mines, kissed Madeline good-by,
promised to be back before the first mush-ice ran, and took passage on
an up-river steamer.

Madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight. She
fed the dogs, gave much of her time to Young Cal, watched the short
summer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to the south. And
she prayed much in the manner of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. The
fall came, and with it there was mush-ice on the Yukon, and Circle City
kings returning to the winter's work at their mines, but no Cal
Galbraith. Tom Dixon received a letter, however, for his men sledded up
her winter's supply of dry pine. The Company received a letter for its
dogteams fille