Gold-Seeking on the Dalton Trail: Being the Adventures of Two New England Boys in Alaska and the Northwest TerritoryThompson, Arthur R. (Arthur Ripley)
General
Gold-Seeking on the Dalton Trail: Being the Adventures of Two New England Boys in Alaska and the Northwest Territory
Thompson, Arthur R. (Arthur Ripley)
Klondike River Valley (Yukon) -- Gold discoveries -- Fiction
The Bradfords passed through the Stik village early the next day, after
leaving letters with the storekeeper to be sent back when opportunity
offered. This Indian settlement consisted of about a dozen houses,
some built of rough logs, others of hewn boards. A few possessed the
luxury of glass windows. Over the door of one of the more pretentious
was nailed a board on which was painted the name of the chief, John Kah
Sha. The Indians, many of whom appeared abjectly dirty and ignorant,
gazed stolidly for the most part at the travellers, but a few nodded
and smiled as they passed, and called away the swarm of curs which
yelped or fawned at their heels.
Beyond the village the trail turned north and left the river valley,
ascending eight hundred feet by a sharp ridge to the top of a great
table-land. The snow had melted from the ridge, and it was necessary to
unpack the sleds and carry up the goods piece-meal,--an operation which
required many trips and the severest labor, and occupied the entire
day.
In the nick of time Lucky appeared with his younger brother, and having
begged to be allowed to accompany the party,--a request which Uncle
Will granted at once,--he fell to work with such energy and good-will
that the boys were inclined to think the storekeeper had erred in
calling him lazy. Coffee Jack, too, struggled with flour sacks nearly
as heavy as himself, and won golden opinions from everybody. The truth
is, an Indian is every whit as ready as a white man to show gratitude
for kindness.
Reaching the brow of the hill breathless and warm after the first
ascent, the Bradfords threw their loads upon the ground and paused to
rest and look back. A wonderful panorama was outspread before them.
Green spruce forests were sprinkled over the snowy surface of the Alsek
valley and its bordering plateaus. Below them lay the Indian village,
while to the east in a clearing rose a column of blue smoke from the
chimney of the trading-post. They could trace the river for many miles
in its great curve to the south, where on the far horizon glittered the
mighty summits of the St. Elias Range. To the southeast, perhaps ten
miles away, loomed a grand cluster of unnamed mountains, and another
to the southwest, while, to perfectly balance the picture, similar
isolated mountain groups appeared over the tree-tops in the northeast
and northwest.
It was here that a trim, long-tailed bird was first observed, whose
plumage was mostly black, and whose note was loud rather than musical.
Uncle Will said it was a magpie, a bird which, in captivity, can be
taught like the parrot to imitate the human voice. Another bird, of
a gray color, made its appearance at dinner-time, and showed a great
fondness for bacon rinds, coming close up to the party to snatch the
coveted morsels. This was the butcher-bird or shrike, very common in
all the northwestern country, and an arrant thief when there is meat in
sight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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