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on lines like the lines of a good canoe； just like that； and when
she move she is like the movement of the good canoe sliding through
still water or leaping through water when it is white and fast and
angry。 It is very good to see。
〃Why does she come into Klondike； all alone； with plenty of money？
I do not know。 Next day I ask her。 She laugh and says： 'Sitka
Charley； that is none of your business。 I give you one thousand
dollars take me to Dawson。 That only is your business。' Next day
after that I ask her what is her name。 She laugh； then she says；
'Mary Jones； that is my name。' I do not know her name； but I know
all the time that Mary Jones is not her name。
〃It is very cold in canoe； and because of cold sometimes she not
feel good。 Sometimes she feel good and she sing。 Her voice is
like a silver bell； and I feel good all over like when I go into
church at Holy Cross Mission； and when she sing I feel strong and
paddle like hell。 Then she laugh and says； 'You think we get to
Dawson before freeze…up； Charley？' Sometimes she sit in canoe and
is thinking far away； her eyes like that； all empty。 She does not
see Sitka Charley； nor the ice； nor the snow。 She is far away。
Very often she is like that； thinking far away。 Sometimes； when
she is thinking far away； her face is not good to see。 It looks
like a face that is angry； like the face of one man when he want to
kill another man。
〃Last day to Dawson very bad。 Shore…ice in all the eddies； mush…
ice in the stream。 I cannot paddle。 The canoe freeze to ice。 I
cannot get to shore。 There is much danger。 All the time we go
down Yukon in the ice。 That night there is much noise of ice。
Then ice stop； canoe stop； everything stop。 'Let us go to shore；'
the woman says。 I say no； better wait。 By and by； everything
start down…stream again。 There is much snow。 I cannot see。 At
eleven o'clock at night； everything stop。 At one o'clock
everything start again。 At three o'clock everything stop。 Canoe
is smashed like eggshell； but is on top of ice and cannot sink。 I
hear dogs howling。 We wait。 We sleep。 By and by morning come。
There is no more snow。 It is the freeze…up； and there is Dawson。
Canoe smash and stop right at Dawson。 Sitka Charley has come in
with two thousand letters on very last water。
〃The woman rent a cabin on the hill； and for one week I see her no
more。 Then； one day； she come to me。 'Charley；' she says； 'how do
you like to work for me？ You drive dogs； make camp； travel with
me。' I say that I make too much money carrying letters。 She says；
'Charley； I will pay you more money。' I tell her that pick…and…
shovel man get fifteen dollars a day in the mines。 She says； 'That
is four hundred and fifty dollars a month。' And I say； 'Sitka
Charley is no pick…and…shovel man。' Then she says； 'I understand；
Charley。 I will give you seven hundred and fifty dollars each
month。' It is a good price； and I go to work for her。 I buy for
her dogs and sled。 We travel up Klondike； up Bonanza and Eldorado；
over to Indian River； to Sulphur Creek； to Dominion； back across
divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold； and back to Dawson。
All the time she look for something； I do not know what。 I am
puzzled。 'What thing you look for？' I ask。 She laugh。 'You look
for gold？' I ask。 She laugh。 Then she says； 'That is none of your
business； Charley。' And after that I never ask any more。
〃She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt。
Sometimes； on trail； she makes practice with revolver。 I laugh。
'What for you laugh； Charley？' she ask。 'What for you play with
that？' I say。 'It is no good。 It is too small。 It is for a
child； a little plaything。' When we get back to Dawson she ask me
to buy good revolver for her。 I buy a Colt's 44。 It is very
heavy； but she carry it in her belt all the time。
〃At Dawson comes the man。 Which way he come I do not know。 Only
do I know he is CHECHA…QUO … what you call tenderfoot。 His hands
are soft； just like hers。 He never do hard work。 He is soft all
over。 At first I think maybe he is her husband。 But he is too
young。 Also； they make two beds at night。 He is maybe twenty
years old。 His eyes blue； his hair yellow； he has a little
mustache which is yellow。 His name is John Jones。 Maybe he is her
brother。 I do not know。 I ask questions no more。 Only I think
his name not John Jones。 Other people call him Mr。 Girvan。 I do
not think that is his name。 I do not think her name is Miss
Girvan； which other people call her。 I think nobody know their
names。
〃One night I am asleep at Dawson。 He wake me up。 He says； 'Get
the dogs ready； we start。' No more do I ask questions； so I get
the dogs ready and we start。 We go down the Yukon。 It is night…
time； it is November； and it is very cold … sixty…five below。 She
is soft。 He is soft。 The cold bites。 They get tired。 They cry
under their breaths to themselves。 By and by I say better we stop
and make camp。 But they say that they will go on。 Three times I
say better to make camp and rest； but each time they say they will
go on。 After that I say nothing。 All the time； day after day； is
it that way。 They are very soft。 They get stiff and sore。 They
do not understand moccasins； and their feet hurt very much。 They
limp； they stagger like drunken people； they cry under their
breaths； and all the time they say； 'On！ on！ We will go on！'
〃They are like crazy people。 All the time do they go on； and on。
Why do they go on？ I do not know。 Only do they go on。 What are
they after？ I do not know。 They are not after gold。 There is no
stampede。 Besides； they spend plenty of money。 But I ask
questions no more。 I； too； go on and on； because I am strong on
the trail and because I am greatly paid。
〃We make Circle City。 That for which they look is not there。 I
think now that we will rest； and rest the dogs。 But we do not
rest； not for one day do we rest。 'Come；' says the woman to the
man； 'let us go on。' And we go on。 We leave the Yukon。 We cross
the divide to the west and swing down into the Tanana Country。
There are new diggings there。 But that for which they look is not
there； and we take the back trail to Circle City。
〃It is a hard journey。 December is most gone。 The days are short。
It is very cold。 One morning it is seventy below zero。 'Better
that we don't travel to…day；' I say； 'else will the frost be
unwarmed in the breathing and bite all the edges of our lungs。
After that we will have bad cough； and maybe next spring will come
pneumonia。' But they are CHECHA…QUO。 They do not understand the
trail。 They are like dead people they are so tired； but they say；
'Let us go on。' We go on。 The frost bites their lungs； and they
get the dry cough。 They cough till the tears run down their