“We wanted to know what you meant by the word ‘mush’ you used yesterday,” said Jack.
“Oh, that means simply gettin’ somewhere; jest walkin’ which, I might say, has been up to this time the chief means of communication in this big Alaska. I don’t know where the word come from, but it was here when I arrived. I always supposed it was Eskimo. The whole Eskimo language, before I learned it, used to sound to me like a mouthful of it. However, a young feller who was up here some years ago, a newspaper man like you (he was with a party of United States senators), gave me a new idea on the matter. He showed me that the most of Alaska that wasn’t forest and mountain and rock was just a soft wet spongy mat of roots and grass and moss that every step on it just pernounced the word.”
“Ah, you mean McClain,” exclaimed Colonel Snow. “I’ve read his work, and it is the most lucid, modest, and understandable descriptive work on the Alaskan country that has yet appeared.”
The low grade fuel and inferior oil which they had taken aboard at Eagle had its effect on the engine which showed signs of “laying down,” as the engineer said, several times during the day. Finally, after a peculiarly vicious splutter the motor “backfired,” setting the oil soaked dungarees of the engineer aflame, and promptly “died.” The engineer did not hesitate with so much oil and gasoline around him, but went over the side into the Yukon with one hand on the gunwale and, as soon as his burning clothing was soaked, was helped aboard again by his companion.
It became absolutely necessary to clean the engine, and while one of the boys kept the launch in the middle of the river as it drifted, with an oar, the others rolled up their sleeves, and with the knowledge gained from their aeroplane motors, aided the steersman to disconnect and clean the machinery. Meantime the engineer arrayed himself in dry clothing.
“Well, well,” said he, as he came out of the cabin, “I didn’t know we had a group of experts aboard. I supposed the aviator that went up yesterday knew all about it, but this help will save us about an hour’s time, and we haven’t been getting any too much speed out of her to-day.”
The engine behaved excellently for the rest of the day, and about five o’clock in the afternoon they landed at the town of Circle.
They found it a village of a couple of hundred, the supply point for the Birch Creek mining region.
At an early hour the next morning they were again on the bosom of the river, the engine having again been cleaned and “nursed” as the engineer described it for the day. The river had begun to widen and the bank to fall to almost a dead level just before reaching Circle the night before, and they now entered upon a dreary expanse of tundra or flat marsh land covered with a meager growth of willow and stunted birch. The river spread out to a width of nearly a dozen miles, dividing into many channels surrounding small bushy islands and rendering navigation very difficult. The wheelman, who was an old river pilot, was thoroughly acquainted with what he called the “Yukon flats,” and managed to elude the sandbars and sunken islands with considerable dexterity.
“The trouble is,” he confided to Swiftwater, “that this old river is closed six months in the year, and we never can tell whether we’re goin’ to find any of it here when the ice goes out in the spring. It wanders ’round as if it had no home or mother, and where we find a twenty-foot channel this fall there may be a dusty wagon road next spring.”