roaching steamer, in their
soft eyes the sadness of a canine race of slaves. Behind them limped a
sick man or two, a soldier from the barracks, and in the rear a fellow
who had drifted in the week before with scurvy. It was a pitiful review
that lined up to greet the tide of tenderfeet crowding towards their El
Dorado, and unusual also, for as yet the sight of new faces was strange
in the North.

The deserted aspect of the town puzzled the captain of the steamer, and
upon landing he made his way at once to John Gale's store, where he
learned from the trader of the strike and of the stampede that had
resulted. Before the recital was finished a man approached and spoke
excitedly.

"Captain, my ticket reads to Dawson, but I'm getting off here. Won't
you have my outfit put ashore?" He was followed by a group of
fellow-passengers who made a similar request.

"This place is good enough for me," one of them said.

"Me, too," another volunteered. "This strike is new, and we've hit her
just in time."

Outside a dozen men had crowded "No Creek" Lee against the wall of the
store and were clamoring to hear about his find. Before the tardy ones
had cleared the gang-plank the news had flashed from shore to ship, and
a swarm came up the bank and into the post, firing questions and
answers at each other eagerly, elbowing and fighting for a place within
ear-shot of the trader or the ragged man outside.

The frenzy of a gold stampede is like the rush from a burning building,
and equally easy to arouse. No statement is too wild to lack believers,
no rumor too exaggerated to find takers. Within an hour the crew of the
steamer was busy unloading countless tons of merchandise and baggage
billed to Dawson, and tents began to show their snowy whiteness here
and there. As a man saw his outfit appear he would pounce upon it, a
bundle at a time, and pile it by itself, which resulted in endless
disputes and much confusion; but a spirit of youth and expectancy
permeated all and prevented more than angry words. Every hour the heaps
of baggage grew larger and the tents more numerous.

Stark wasted no time. With money in his hands he secured a dozen men
who were willing to work for hire, for there are always those who
prefer the surety of ten coined dollars to the hope of a hundred. He
swooped down with these helpers on his pile of merchandise that had
lain beneath tarpaulins on the river-bank since the day he and Runnion
landed, and by mid-a