We have published a number of stories of adventure in the icy North, but none giving a more realistic impression of the hardships and dangers which lie in wait for the traveller and prospector in these inhospitable regions than this. Mr. Priestley and his partner set out with dog-teams for a new goldfield, but the partner lost heart and turned back, leaving him to struggle on alone. Death dogged his footsteps through the great white wilderness, and but for the intelligence of his leading dog he would undoubtedly have lost his life. It was my fortune, or misfortune, to be present in San Francisco at the time of the earthquake and fire of April 18th, 1906. Although I gained a good deal of valuable experience as my share of the catastrophe, I lost all my belongings to offset the bargain. I stayed in San Francisco until June 1st, and then resolved to try my luck in another country, where earthquakes and such petty worries are unknown. Fate directed my roving footsteps to Alaska, glowingly described by the transportation companies as “The Golden North--the land of fur, fish, and gold.” I thanked the companies for their information, but did not avail myself of their kind offer to sell me a ticket. Both Nature and Fate seemed to have destined me for a rover, and one of the main tenets of a roving life--to say nothing of my financial status--demanded and ordained that I must travel at the least possible expense. I accordingly made arrangements, and worked my passage from San Francisco to St. Michael’s, _viâ_ Nome, on the ss. _Buckman_. St. Michael’s is a port on the Bering Sea, and is the principal shipping port for the Yukon River and Central Alaska. [Illustration: THE AUTHOR, MR. W. E. PRIESTLY, IN HIS ALASKAN COSTUME. _From a Photograph._] From St. Michael’s I found a boat was leaving for the Tanana district, and again luck favoured me, for I got the chance to work my way up to that part of the country. We traversed the Yukon River as far as Fort Gibbon, and from there proceeded up the Tanana River to the mining camp of Fairbanks, which is situated about four hundred miles up-stream from Fort Gibbon. I arrived in Fairbanks on July 1st, having travelled nearly four thousand miles since leaving San Francisco, and found myself about twenty-five dollars better off than when I started. I stayed in the Fairbanks district until the end of November. The physical features of this country are best described as “eight months iceberg and four months swamp.” Towards the end of November rumour began to circulate reports that a new goldfield of incredible richness had been discovered. Tales of “eight dollars to the shovelful” were passed through the camp, and all kinds of stories, real and imaginary, were discussed with feverish excitement.