es in
wishing the men luck in various degrees, he rounded up the remnant of
his army and began again. In a day or two the stampeders began to limp
back hungry and weary, and every one who brought a pick or a shovel was
re-employed. But hundreds kept on toward Lake Bennett, and thence by
water up Windy Arm to the Atlin country, and many of them have not yet
returned to claim their time-checks.

The autumn waned. The happy wives of young engineers, who had been
tented along the line during the summer, watched the wildflowers fade
with a feeling of loneliness and deep longing for their stout-hearted,
strong-limbed husbands, who were away up in the cloud-veiled hills; and
they longed, too, for other loved ones in the lowlands of their
childhood. Foy's blasters and builders buttoned their coats and buckled
down to keep warm. Below, they could hear loud peals of profanity as the
trailers, packers, and pilgrims pounded their dumb slaves over the
trail. Above, the wind cried and moaned among the crags, constantly
reminding them that winter was near at hand. The nights were longer than
the days. The working day was cut from ten to eight hours, but the pay
of the men had been raised from thirty to thirty-five cents an hour.

One day a black cloud curtained the canon, and the workmen looked up
from their picks and drills to find that it was November and night. The
whole theatre, stage and all, had grown suddenly dark; but they knew, by
the strange, weird noise in the wings, that the great tragedy of winter
was on. Hislop's horse and dog went down the trail. Hawkins and Hislop
and Heney walked up and down among the men, as commanding officers show
themselves on the eve of battle. Foy chaffed the laborers and gave them
more rope; but no amount of levity could prevail against the universal
feeling of dread that seemed to settle upon the whole army. This weird
Alaska, so wild and grand, so cool and sweet and sunny in summer, so
strangely sad in autumn,--this many-mooded, little known Alaska that
seemed doomed ever to be misunderstood, either over-lauded or lied
about,--what would she do to them? How cruel, how cold, how weird, how
wickedly wild her winters must be! Most men are brave, and an army of
brave men will breast great peril when God's lamp lights the field; but
the stoutest heart dreads the darkness. These men were sore afraid, all
of them; and yet no one was willing to be the first to fall out, so they
stood their ground. T