Three dreary days of waiting followed, and the hours became so monotonous at times, especially after the hard, active toil that had preceded them, that in some respects it was the most trying period of the memorable journey of our friends from Dyea to Dawson City. The men found consolation in their pipes, which frequently made the air within the tent intolerable to the youngsters. Like most smokers, however, the men never suspected the annoyance they caused, and the boys were too considerate to hint anything of the kind. When their young limbs yearned for exercise, they bolted out of doors, in the face of the driving sleet and fine snow which cut the face like bird-shot. Locking arms, they wrestled and rolled and tumbled in the snow, washed each other's faces, flung the snow about—for it was too dry to admit of being wrought into balls—and when tired out, they came back panting and with red cheeks, showing that their lungs had been filled with the life-giving ozone.
It was necessary now and then to cut fuel from the adjacent wood, and this was done by Tim and Jeff. The boys asked to be allowed to try their hand, but they were too unskilful in wielding an axe, and their request was denied. Now and then the howling gale drove the smoke back into the tent, where it was almost as bad as the odor from the pipes.
The four slept at intervals through the day and most of the long night; but now and then the men laid aside their pipes, the stove "drew," and the atmosphere within was agreeable. The only books in the company were the two pocket Bibles furnished by the mothers of Roswell and Frank. Neither boy forgot his promise to read the volume whenever suitable opportunity presented. Seeing Frank reclining on his blanket, with his little Bible in hand, Jeff asked him to read it aloud, and the boy gladly complied. It was a striking sight, as the men inclined their heads and reverently listened to the impressive words from the Book of Life. There was no jesting or badinage, for that chord which the Creator has placed in every human heart was touched, and responded with sweet music. Many an hour was thus passed—let us hope with profit to every one of the little party.
Finally the longed-for lull in the storm came, and the voyage was renewed. The trip through Caribou Crossing was made without mishap, the distance being about four miles, when they entered Marsh Lake, often known as Mud Lake, though no apparent cause exists for the title. No difficulty was experienced in making their way for the twenty-four miles of its length, at the end of which they debouched into Lynx River, where twenty-seven more miles were passed without incident or trouble worth recording.
CHAPTER X.
AT WHITE HORSE RAPIDS.
"We're doing well," observed Tim McCabe, when the raft with its load and party of gold-seekers reached the end of Lynx River, "but be the same token, we're drawing nigh the worst part of the voyage, and we'll be lucky if we git through the same without mishap."
"What have we ahead?" asked Jeff.
"Miles Cañon; it's a little more than half a mile long, and if this raft isn't as strong as it should be it'll be torn to pieces."