It was laborious work, truly. The snow was deep, and it was not packed. There averaged three feet of it, then there seemed to be a heavy crust, and if one broke through that, which we often did, we found a layer of slush—half-melted snow—sometimes but a few inches deep, at others a yard or more, and only under this was the solid ice of the river. I used to go ahead with my pole and sound where I thought it looked suspicious. Often I thus steered clear of difficulty, and often I did not, for many a time the load, and May, and I, sunk in to such a depth that it was actually alarming. She bravely suppressed outcries and expressions of fear. She tried to laugh over these deplorable episodes, and sometimes I saw her gaze longingly on what she thought was a much better road in there amongst the trees, but, dear girl, she never tried to argue with me, or even to discuss the reason for my dislike to it.
Before noon our mocassins and leggings were wet and miserable. We ourselves were in a bath of perspiration. It was difficult to believe that it was freezing as hard as ever, and only when, after a few hundred yards of easy going, we halted to take breath, were we aware how cold it was, by our frozen leg-coverings.
We camped for our mid-day food on a brush-clad point on the south side. It was absolutely still and clear. On taking off our snow-glasses the light was so painfully dazzling that we understood what snow-blindness meant, and gladly put them on again. I caused May here to change her foot-wear, as we were staying long enough to dry our wet mocassins by the fire. It was a snug corner we had chosen. We had a side view both up and down the Klondyke and across it.
As we sat, as usual talking of our future, Patch suddenly stood up with bristling mane and gazed across the river. "There's something over there," said I; "that's just as he did when we first heard your shots up the creek there," and we gazed and listened intently, the dog as deeply interested as May and I were.
I, supposing it was bear or wolf that had thus excited Patch, felt thankful that we were on the side we were, and got my gun in order.
Patch's excitement increased. He began to bark. With difficulty I restrained him, and made him lie down. I stopped his barking, but I could not make him cease growling. This excited us, and we watched the opposite shore closely.
May was the first to discover the cause. Two men were tramping along the track across the river!—whether whites or Indians they were too far off to see.
The expression of my dear companion's face at this discovery was peculiar. She was flushed with excitement as she said to me, "Come, let us call to them. Oh, how splendid to see other people,—to realise that we are not alone in this dreadful country!"
Laying my mittened hand on her shoulder, I remarked, "Stop—let us think: they may be friends or foes; we must be cautious. Besides, what do we really want? We know our way, and we have all we need. It is satisfactory to know we are in an inhabited land, that is all."
"Oh, how terribly cautious and careful you are, Bertie!" she exclaimed. "I should like to run over to those two men and greet them. But you know best; oh, yes, I'm sure you do, forgive my impetuosity—only it is so fine to know that we are really going home."