| Gold-Bottom Creek. |
"It looks likely country," said Campbell, "and I shouldn't wonder if that glacier has worn down quite a lot of gold."
We were not long in pitching our tents and building several fires to thaw off the icicles that clung to our faces; then we felt much more enthusiastic over our prospects. The timber was plentiful, and close at hand; we were far indeed from the madding crowd.
"We'll make a start, boys," I said; "we'll see whether old Leather-skin spoke correctly."
My two companions were rather disconsolately surveying the scene.
"Too much gold!" muttered Mac in derision. "No vera likely. It wad tak' hundreds o' thoosands o' pounds tae pey me fur ma sufferin's in this God-forsaken country."
All day long we kept great logs burning over the frozen gravel silted up on the edge of the channel. Slowly we excavated the "dirt" in fragments, picking energetically at it after each fire had been cleared away. The icy body of the creek had evidently long since been formed, for not a drop of water flowed beneath; and after sinking a few feet we came to a level where the frozen mass contracted from the old river-bed, leaving a clear dry space in which a man could almost stand upright. We at once abandoned our shaft, and crawled into the strange cavern formed. The gravel over which the torrent had flowed was dry, and hard as flint. We had reached bedrock on the true channel of the stream, and with water still flowing overhead! A yet unfrozen fluid gurgled in the heart of the great ice column above; the effect was wonderfully beautiful.