On Skukum Gulch $30,000 were taken from two boxes of dirt. Frank Phiscator of Michigan, after a few months' work, brought home $100,000 in gold, selling one-third of his claim interests for $1,333,000, or at the rate of $5,000,000 for the whole. When a man is compelled to pay one thousand dollars out of every ten thousand he digs from the ground, he will boast little of large "clean-ups"; and for this reason it is hard to estimate the real amount of gold extracted from the Klondyke mines. Captain James Kennedy, an old pioneer and conservative mining man, estimates the output for the season of 1899 as $25,000,000, or fifty tons of dust and nuggets. The most commendable thing about the Canadian Government is their strict enforcement of order. Stealing is an almost unheard of thing, and petty thieving does not exist. Mounted police in their brown uniforms and soldiers in their red coats are everywhere seen in and around Dawson, and they practice methods, which, to the uninitiated, make them very nearly omnipresent. While walking down street in Dawson one morning about nine o'clock, I passed a group of men all wearing sober faces. "They're done for now," said a rough miner, glancing in the direction of the Barracks, where a black flag was fluttering at the top of a staff. "How so?" asked another, just come up to the group. "Three men hung over there, an hour ago. They're goin' to bury 'em now," and the speaker twitched his thumbs first toward the Barracks, then farther east, where a rough stretch of ground lay unused. Here could be seen policemen and soldiers, evidently in the midst of some performance not on their daily routine. A number of prisoners wearing the regulation garb of convicts,--pantaloons of heavy mackinaw, one leg of yellow and the other of black,--were carrying long, rough boxes, while others were digging shallow graves. Upon inquiry I found that what the miner had said was true. Three prisoners, two of them Indian murderers, with another man notoriously bad, had indeed been hung about eight o'clock that morning in the barracks courtyard. In less than two hours afterward they were interred, and in as many days they were forgotten. By the middle of July, 1899, the steamers leaving Dawson on their way down the Yukon to St. Michael and the new gold fields at Nome, were well filled with those who were anxious to try their luck in Uncle Sam's territory where they can breathe, dig, fish, hunt, or die without buying a license. By August the steamers coming from St. Michael brought such glowing accounts of the Nome gold fields, that while few people came in, they carried as many out as they could accommodate. By September the rush down the Yukon was tremendous, and of the twelve thousand people in Dawson many hundreds left for Nome.