CHAPTER XII.
AT DAWSON CITY.
Naturally the route over which the little party of gold-seekers were journeying steadily improved. The Yukon, like many other great rivers of the world, comes into being a lusty, vigorous infant, the junction of the Lewis and Pelly making it a stream of considerable proportions from the moment it takes its name.
Other gold-hunters were seen from time to time, and there were pleasant exchanges and greetings with most of them. It was the custom of Jeff Graham to keep going so long as daylight lasted, when the raft was worked into shore and an encampment made. For a time the old miner kept his Winchester within immediate reach, hoping to gain sight of some deer or wild game, but as day after day and night after night passed without the first glimpse of anything of the kind, he gave up in disgust.
"It's the most villainous country on the face of the earth," he said, as he lit his pipe at the evening fire. "If it wasn't for the gold that we know is here, no decent man would stay over night in it. Frank, tell me something about the confounded country."
"Me!" replied the boy, with a laugh. "I don't know half as much as you and Tim."
"Yes, you do. Tim don't know anything more than the best way to travel through the mountains and across the lakes."
The Irishman took his pipe from between his lips to offer protest against this slur, but changed his mind, and resumed smoking, though his eyes twinkled.
"A man that takes a lot of gold out of the ground and then lets a thief steal it isn't fit to go alone."
"Which is why I've provided mesilf with a chap that knows it all," said Tim, not the least offended, though Hardman scowled, for the remark was a pointed reflection upon him; but he held his peace.