Our course was plain, the creek formed an avenue through the trees. It was fairly level, though we encountered many ridges and drifts of snow, which was deep; but the weather having been calm for some time, it had settled down and packed a little. Our load was very heavy, and the toboggan sunk in a good deal. Patch and I hauled in front usually, and May pushed, but sometimes, to make a change, she hauled in front; but breaking the track was generally too hard for her. What made our load, probably 300 lb. in weight, still harder to drag was that we could not pull with our snow-shoes on successfully, so gave them up, then sank in, often to our knees, sometimes to our waists; and many a time neither Patch nor I seemed able to get any secure foothold. As for my dear girl, she bravely struggled on and did her best to aid us, but really many times had all that she could do to keep herself from sinking out of sight in the dry powdery snow.
I don't believe we made three miles the first day. Our camp that night was in a clump of stunted pines. We put up our two tents close beside each other, lighting a big fire in front which warmed them both, and really in our sleeping-bags we felt little cold. May's tent being by far the larger, in it I ate with her, then turned into my own shelter for the night.
The following day I believe we made five miles. We were awfully fatigued; and having to put up tents, cut bedding, build the fire, and cook, was no light work after our day's march. That day I saw many tracks of wolves and foxes. I supposed my companion did not notice them, so I said nothing, for I did not wish to add to her discomfort the alarm of attacks from wild beasts. But I have learned since that she did see them and inwardly dreaded what they meant, yet kept her knowledge from me lest I should suffer more anxiety. She just "put her trust in God," she said, "and hoped He would protect us."
For several days and nights we had perfect weather, cold of course, I suppose it was never less than 15° or 20° below zero. Then on the seventh day—having made, we thought, fifty miles—as we were nearing the mouth of our creek, it began to blow! We well knew what that meant. The sky at noon was dark as night, the weird mountains were enshrouded in mists of driving snow. Down in the sheltered avenue, where we were struggling along, it was yet a breeze only, but even that seemed to cut us to our very marrow in spite of our furs and wraps: we realised that we must halt at once, make shelter somehow, somewhere, and lie up whilst this storm should last.
There was a high and rocky bank near the margin of the creek. I donned my snow-shoes and tramped across the snow to examine it, and fortunately found a sort of bay or gap between two huge boulders, which would protect us from most winds, and a big fire across the entrance would warm the air somewhat. Here we pitched our tents, and here we lay for three days and nights whilst the tempest howled past us.
Providentially there was no snowfall, only banks of it were lifted up and carried past our retreat in clouds, which caused us to dread every moment that a blast would curl it in on us and smother us. However, mercifully we were spared this horror, and on the fourth day the sun came out as the wind dropped, and we were able to move on. But it was awful work: my heart bled for May,—I could not help but show how much I felt for her. I could not refrain from exclamations which, I know now, showed her where my thoughts were, and what I felt. She, dear girl, quite understood: for she assures me that during all this dreadful time her one thought and hope was that in the time to come, if it should please God to bring us out of these horrors, she would be able to devote her life to my happiness and consolation in part payment for what she is pleased to speak of as my devotion to her,—just as if any man would not willingly risk life and limb for any woman in such a case—-just as if I, with such a girl as May, was not altogether glad to do anything and everything to help her.
The following day we got to and camped in the cave where our boat was hidden. It was with difficulty I found the place, everything was so deeply bedded in snow,—very different to when I parted those months before with Indian Fan and Jim. We had stowed the boat so safely that it was dry and free from snow, as the cave was. We camped that night in it, May taking up her quarters in the boat.
For some time we had not noticed tracks of any kind; but the following morning, which was bright and calm, I left the cave to May a while, and tramped down to the edge of the larger Klondyke river to make a survey of the route, and to discover, if possible, what the prospects were for our day's work.
There I was struck with astonishment to notice numerous footmarks along the margin. To be sure they were covered with fresh drifted snow, but my woodcraft taught me that they had been made recently. There was a regular path, which looked to have been much travelled. Certainly, I thought, it was a bear-track; and yet, knowing that those creatures hibernate, I was nonplussed. Did the Yukon bears behave as others, I wondered. Perhaps the St Elias grizzlies do not sleep the winter through. Was it wolves? I looked anxiously; the traces were too large, and spaced differently to their tracks. However, there was a well-used way, and I was greatly troubled.
We had by this time become so used to the toil and hardship of this mode of travel, that I was not surprised to find May in excellent spirits when I returned to camp. The brightness of the morning; the sunlight on the snow; the brilliant iridescence of the ice-bespangled branches of the trees, and the broader outlook across the white, wide expanse of the Klondyke; the knowledge of our having attained the first stage of our momentous journey safely; indeed, the very finding of the boat, which was the first link, as one may term it, with civilisation,—did so cheer the dear girl that she greeted me almost joyously as she bustled about with our cooking arrangements. We had promised ourselves a sumptuous repast on reaching the Klondyke, and I had fortunately knocked over a brace of grouse the day before, so we were reckoning on our breakfast.