"Y

ES, I've been there; been in the. land of the mosquito and eternal snow; been to the very heart of the country those poor misguided fools are falling over each other to reach. Judging from your looks, stranger, you are a newspaper man?" And the clear, steel-blue

eyes of the speaker eyed me sharply. 'Well, seeing as I've guessed it," he added cordially, "I'll introduce myself. Bartholomew Smith," he said, with a wave of the hand; "miner by occupation."

He looked it, every inch of it, did the big Yukoner, as he stood tall, brown, and handsome under the electric glare on the Portland wharf, an interested spectator of the packed mass of humanity congregated there to see the good ship Oregon sail away for the golden Mecca of the North.

"Yes," the big fellow continued, as four new arrivals passed up the accommodationstairs to the Oregon's already crowded decks, "I was one of the lucky ones that came down from St. Michaels on the treasure-ship Portland last month. It's my first trip out in eight year.

"To get out of the Yukon country," he went on, in his easy way, "is n't the easy job it's cracked up to be. My first attempt was a failure; the second,-well, it don't matter.

"Why did I fail? you ask. For the simple reason, stranger, that God Almighty willed it otherwise.

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It was on account of a boy," the Yukoner went on, as he braced himself against a huge pile of freight fast disappearing into the Oregon's hold, "and which happened ten year ago next May. It was at the foot of Marsh Lake, where all hands were camped, building boats and getting ready for the down-river trip, that little eight-year-old Bob was taken sick. Three hundred men said he had to be taken out to Juneau for medical treatment; three hundred men said I was the one to see the job through. Well, the outcome was that the boy, and five days' rations for Jack and me, were bundled onto a sled, and as the

May day waned we headed up the lakes for the Chilcoot Pass, on our one-hundredand-twenty-mile tramp for civilization.

"When we pulled out that night," said my new-found acquaintance reflectively, "I did n't feel the best in the world, knowing what was ahead, and it was like pulling eye-teeth to say good-by. But what was I to do? With Jim's dead body,-God bless him!-floating ever on and on under the ice down the great river, there was nothing left me but to grin and bear it. A man in a mining country without a grubstake has to take his medicine like a little man, you know; so I decided to risk it with Brassel and the boy.

"Brassel and the boy," he continued, were on the way to Forty Mile, where the big chap expected to dig out enough yellow metal to lift the mortgage on the little farm away off up yonder in Eastern Oregon.

"I've roughed it, stranger," the Yukoner went on as he drew a pipe from his pocket and filled the bowl from a wellworn tobacco-pouch, " from Johannesburg to Ballarat, from Australia to Peru; but in all my wanderings that was the strangest sight of them all,-to see a little chap like Brassel's son in such a motley array as rushed pell-mell into Forty Mile in the spring of '88,-an assembly and country in no wise the place for a boy.

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The boy and big-hearted Jack were the favorites of the camp; and when the lad was taken sudden-like with mountain fever, as old Blackstaff, the horse-doctor, called it, those three hundred miners could n't do enough for the delirious little chap in tent '64.'

"Well do I remember Brassel's farewell words. 'Boys,' said he, mighty solemnlike, as he picked up the sled rope, ‘I may never make it, but I'll be found a-trying. The love for gold is strong within me, but the love for the little chap, I trust, is stronger. You,-yes, every one of you,'and he paused a moment to look up and down the white-tented village street,

'have been mighty good and kind to Bobbie, and I thank you for it; and if ever there's any luck on Forty Mile, Jack Brassel's the man that hopes you'll find it.'

"So vividly was that camp-leaving impressed upon my mind that I shall remember it to the last day of my life. I can see before me now those little A tents,-fifty or sixty of them,-standing in a row on the bank of the lake. It was supper-time. The camp-fires were burning brightly all along down the line, and the hemlocks in the background shone ruddy red in the glare. Men were baking bread and boiling coffee, and the odor of fried bacon filled the air. To perfect the picture, up in the north the northern lights were playing hide-and-seek around the Pole; while under foot, as far as the eye could reach, the frost on the ice-covered lake sparkled and glittered like so many thousand diamonds.

"It was twenty-five long miles across the lake, and after once started we trudged briskly along. In the mean time I kept a sharp lookout for air-holes. My experience with one of them a few weeks before had cost me dear, and I did n't propose to take any chances. That was how I lost my partner Jim, you know, by having him and the sled go plunging out of sight before my very eyes. We got along much better than I anticipated, however, and by the time the moon came sailing up, a great red globe of fire against the distant snowcovered mountain peaks, we had covered half the distance.

"For hours Brassel never spoke,-that is, to me, but followed along behind, stopping now and then to quiet the little chap, who was always calling, 'Mother!' 'Mother!' When the lad would get more than bad, Brassel would drop the rope and kneel down beside the sled, mighty loving like. Bobbie,' he would say, we are going home to Mother. Have patience, little man, and we will get there by and by.' "When Jack talked like that," said the big Yukoner, as he touched a lighted match to his pipe,-" talked so patient and brave away out there on that lonesome lake with only the moon and stars for company, a lump would rise in my throat and my eyes would smart,-guess it was on account of the weather.

"In this manner the short Alaskan May night wore away, and as the sun climbed up into the heavens, we reached the head of the lake, and stopped, as I thought, for the day. But no; Brassel would not have it that way. After we had eaten our breakfast, a mighty slim affair it was, he turned to me and said, 'Smith, I don't want to rush you, but I find the ice much firmer than I thought, and I'm for pushing on. You know, old man, what a day's delay may mean.' And he gave me a meaning look. That settled it,--that look of his, so we rearranged the little fellow's hard bed and started on again. All that day we pushed on. Heavens! how Brassel walked! It kept me jumping to keep out of his way.

"Dusk found us at the head of the lake, sixty miles from our starting-point. Here we stopped for supper. As the stars came out one by one, the boy's fever, which had died down during the day, came up again. His mind wandered. He imagined all sorts of things. One minute he was on the steamer on his way north, happy with boyish glee at the ever-changing scenery; the next he was back again in his old home, watering the horses or driving the cows home from the pasture.

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"All this time Brassel, who had eaten but little breakfast and no dinner or supper, sat beside him on the edge of the sled, the picture of despair. Fool, fool that I was to bring him along!' he muttered. 'But God knows I never thought it would come to this. Fool, fool, fool!' he repeated bitterly. Smith,' said he, turning to me, his eyes gleaming strangely red in the firelight, like those of a cat when you catch the shine in its eyes, I am going to save the boy, I'm going to push on tonight.'

"It was useless to argue the point,—he would go; so we lit out again. Ten, twelve, and up to three o'clock, we kept up that reckless pace, the boy moaning and tossing on his hard bed. The bumping of the sled jarred him unmercifully. With the coming of the dawn we pulled into a grove of hemlock on the left-hand shore of Lake Bennett. Nature was asserting itself by this time. We had now been on our feet for almost forty hours, and rest we must have. So, building up a

roaring fire, and spreading the blankets on the ground, with the boy between us, we lay down to sleep like weary cattle,―to sleep the sleep of exhaustion.

"Ah, that sleep on the frozen earth, how sweet it was! The sun came sailing up over another day and cast its warmth upon us. We still slept. The day waned. Not until the sun was going down did I awake. Brassel was shaking me. 'Wake up!' he shouted, wake up! I've got some good news to tell you,-the little chap is better.'

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How joyfully he said those words! Poor fellow! he thought so. It was not my place, after looking at the boy's flaming cheeks and sparkling eyes, to inform Brassel that it was a bad sign; he was tortured enough as it was.

"For the first time in three days the lad was rational. 'O, I'm so glad we're going home,' he said; for then we won't have any more ice and snow. I'm so happy, too, that it makes me sleepy. So while I say my prayers, daddy, you kneel down beside me and play you are Mother.' And as Brassel, to humor the whim, knelt beside the sled, the lad repeated that simple prayer that we all have said at our Mother's knee,

"Now I lay me down to sleep.'

"We were all better for that prayer, simple as it was, and after the lad had dropped off to sleep, we ate a bite, then placed him on the sled and started on again. Daybreak found us at the head of Lake Linderman. Only the great snowcovered divide lay between us and the sea, thirty miles away.

"Contrary to expectations, no Indians were camped on the lake; they had decamped, bag and baggage, for the coast. They had been our main-stay, we had expected to engage a number of them to help us over the pass. But Brassel was undaunted. Please God,' he said, 'I can pull the little chap over to Sheep Camp, where we are sure to find friends that will help us down to the coast. What do you say, Smith, can we hold out for a few hours longer?'

"I looked at him closely. From the way his jaws were set, they were shut

together like the jaws of a steel-trap,-I knew he would make it over the pass or die in the attempt. I said, 'Yes.'

"After leaving the lake, our route lay up a creek-bed, or cañon, that extended nearly to the summit, like a great lane. What water there was in the creek-bed was covered with thin treacherous ice, and Brassel, owing to his weight, often went through into three and four feet of water. The first time he crashed through the ice, going waist-deep, I suggested the idea of laying over a day or so and put in the time making snowshoes. This we could easily have done, for we were as yet in the timber belt. But he doggedly shook his head and kept on. I fared better than he. My rubber boots kept out the water; and while he was all dripping wet, I was comparatively dry.

"Notwithstanding the trouble I have mentioned, we made fairly good time, and ten o'clock found us within three miles of the summit. Then trouble began. So far it had been clear and sunshiny. But suddenly there came a change. What breeze there was all at once veered round to the north, and came whipping over the snowy wastes in stinging blasts. There was nothing to protect us from the mercy of the gale; for we were now far above timber-line in a changeable atmosphere. Soon the sky grew dark and overcast and snow began to fall. Softly it came down at first, then thicker and thicker it came, until we could not see twenty yards ahead. If not for the mighty walls of the cañon, we would have become bewildered and wandered off,-God knows where!

"When the storm began, Brassel became alarmed, as well he might. Smith,' said he, if this continues, the little chap will freeze; and then, O God! what shall I do?' With that he removed his heavy coat from about his shoulders and spread it over the sleeping lad, who had not once awakened since we left the lake; then the brave fellow plodded on in his shirt-sleeves.

"It was unselfish heroism! It was always for the lad's welfare that he thought, though he himself was shivering with cold as his soaking garments froze fast about him. No man in his condition could live long, and I was fearful what the end would be.

Things had now reached such a pass that it was hard work for him to draw the sled; so I suggested the idea to spell him. For a wonder, he accepted the offer and took the lead, while I brought up the rear. Slowly, with the wind howling up the cañon, with great swirls of snow beating into our half-closed eyes, we tramped along. Thus half an hour went by. Slower and slower Brassel walked. His clothing was frozen stiff now; each step was mechanical. His head was bent forward as he faced that seething blast, like a reed in a gale. Twice he went down, only to regain his feet and press feebly on. At last the inevitable came. He tottered, he reeled, swayed for a moment like a drunken man in the throes of delirium, then pitched forward, first to his knees, and then measured his full length on a bare ledge of rock at the base of a snowhill that towered white and grim for a thousand feet in the air.

"Even then I don't think Brassel realized his condition; even so he was as game

as ever.

"Smith,' said he huskily as I came up, 'the odds seem to be against me. Such a thing might be that I can't weather it out; so, while I rest a bit, I want your promise, in case anything should happen, to see the little chap through to the end. Will you promise?'

"We sealed the compact by shaking hands.

"Brassel was much like a watchful mother. For the twentieth time that morning, he bethought himself to look on the face of the sleeping boy, and with an effort he knelt beside the bed. It was with many misgivings that I raised the whitemantled coat. It was as I thought, the little lad was dead!

"I have witnessed many sad and pathetic sights in my time, stranger; but that lit

tle tragedy away up there in the clouds, miles from anywhere, was the saddest of 'em all. The dumb, unspoken agony in Brassel's eyes would have wrung the tears from the eyes of a man with a heart of stone. Cold, benumbed, accustomed to all sorts of sights, this one was too much for me; so I turned away. And as I staggered onto another ledge of rock, three hundred yards or so farther up the cañon, Brassel's heart-broken cry rose above the shrieking of the gale.

"I reached the ledge at last. By this time, the snow had nearly ceased to fall, and the sun was beginning to pierce the rifts; so, sitting there on the wind-swept ledge, in that wilderness of snow, in all my loneliness, caring not a whit whether or not grim death came a-knocking at my door, with Brassel in plain sight as he knelt beside the sled, his head upon his breast, I fell asleep.

"Vake up, meester, vake up; you freezie to death. Vere your friend?' was the next thing of which I was conscious. The voice might have been in another world, it seemed so far away. Slowly I opened my half-frozen eyelids. Two belated Italian miners on their way down the Yukon, were standing over me.

"Vere your friend?' they again asked. 'Down there,' I replied without looking up, at the foot of the snow-hill.'

"Vere? Ve see no snow-hill. Zee avalanche a while ago.'

"At that I glanced down the cañon. A cry escaped me,-there was no snow-hill. A radiant, sun-kissed, billowy pile of white had filled the cañon to the brim. The price of devotion was a spotless, everlasting monument; so deep as to defy the attempts of man.

"Ten thousand tons of snow lay over big-hearted Jack and little Bob."