Many were the jolly times we now had. How the jokes flew past each other over the puddings, and the crisp pies needed almost no other seasoning. How cheerfully "the boys" brought wood and water and counted it reward enough if they only received a smile from little Alma. Many a man was glad enough, too, to render such service for a meal or lunch of hot coffee and doughnuts, especially such good, big, motherly ones as Mary made, and there was no lack of men helpers. How the coffee steamed, the hot bread and meats smoked, and the soup odors tantalized the olfactories of hundreds of "tenderfeet" with their lusty Alaska appetites, which were increased by an open air life such as all in those days were living. When at last we were summoned to our work, on Number Nine, the Swedish women pressed my hand cordially, leaving a good-sized bill in it at the same time, saying: "When you get through on Number Nine come back to us; we need you." I thanked them gratefully and said good-bye. The English girl and myself were soon settled in our little tent with its clean new floor on the hillside of claim Number Nine. No tree was to be seen on the long, rolling hills, and only an occasional boulder on some summit like Anvil Peak, perched as a sentinel above us. A few wild flowers bloomed on the tundra, and the waters of the little stream gurgled over the soft slate pebbles that strewed its course; but the season so far was a dry one, and more water was needed before much could be done at sluicing. Miners were not happy at the prospect of a dry season, which meant a stoppage of all mining operations, and eagerly scanned the heavens for rain indications. A small force of men were at work night and day. On Thursday, July twelfth, eleven hundred dollars in gold dust was taken from the sluice boxes in the creek, and two days afterwards twelve thousand dollars, with which the owner of the claim was much dissatisfied, calling them small clean-ups. A few hundred feet up stream, on Number Ten, the machinery of C. D. Lane whirred constantly. On the upper end of Number Nine a small new machine called a separator was put in by some men from New York who had taken a lay on the claim; but this scheme was not successful. Seeing men at work prospecting along the "benches," as the banks of a stream or hillsides are called by miners, and having a woman's proverbial curiosity, after my work was done I climbed the hill to investigate. The prospectors had left after digging a hole about six feet deep and four square, evidently having satisfied themselves as to what the ground contained. Into this hole I descended to feel of the cold, wet earth and inspect the walls.