The two drivers went on down the trail to White Pass City.
The Canadian Government was evidently not popular. The iniquities of the royalty on gold, and the grafting current in the Gold Commissioner's office in Dawson were resented.
As the party progressed up the Pass, they found its walls coming closer together, making the canyon so narrow that the horse trail on the mountain-side appeared directly overhead. Numbers of dead cattle appeared by the side of the path, telling of the calamities of the trail. Veterans of the trail will tell weird tales of horses, goaded by whip and burden, deliberately throwing themselves into the canyon below—seeking surcease from suffering in death. As the canyon became narrower, so did the trail become more congested. It also grew steeper as they neared the summit, and men and dogs had frequently to pause for rest. It appeared to John a curious struggling mass that surrounded him, strange oaths in all accents came to his ears. The multitude were striving in a race in which brute force alone could conquer.
They came to a party in trouble, and overheard an argument.
"I tell you the territory clear through to Lake Bennett belongs to the United States, and I'm convoy for the United States Customs. I ain't going to let you get over the summit until you pay my wages for four days more, that is, two days from the summit to Lake Bennett loaded, and two days back again from Bennett to Skagway, travelling light, and that's going some too. It amounts to thirty-two dollars, at eight dollars per day—so all you've got to do is pay up."
"No, you don't own the land beyond the summit. Don't you see the English flag up there—that red thing flying from the tent pole? All you've got to do is show me over the summit, and we're quits. I've paid you forty dollars already: three days doing nothing at White Pass City during the storm; and you lost the money playing Black Jack. I ain't got any more money to pay you, anyway. I can't pay you when I ain't got the money."
"Well, dig for it; sell part of your outfit. You can't bluff me. I'm an officer of the United States Customs, and I'm on to my job."
"More grafting," muttered Hugh.
So it was that these convoys, armed with authority more or less real, harassed and blackmailed the victims.
They were now near the summit, in the midst of the last struggle which would put them over the most difficult portion of the trail, and the excitement was general. There was a deal of shouting, and a great renewal of effort. The horse trail and the lower trail merged into one.