And the will of man strove with the will of the water, and
the men laughed at the old Dyea River and gored its banks deeper for
the men who were to follow.
The doorway of the store, through which she had once run out and in,
and where she had looked with awe at the unusual sight of a stray
trapper or fur-trader, was now packed with a clamorous throng of men.
Where of old one letter waiting a claimant was a thing of wonder, she
now saw, by peering through the window, the mail heaped up from floor
to ceiling. And it was for this mail the men were clamoring so
insistently. Before the store, by the scales, was another crowd. An
Indian threw his pack upon the scales, the white owner jotted down the
weight in a note-book, and another pack was thrown on. Each pack was
in the straps, ready for the packer's back and the precarious journey
over the Chilcoot. Frona edged in closer. She was interested in
freights. She remembered in her day when the solitary prospector or
trader had his outfit packed over for six cents,--one hundred and
twenty dollars a ton.
The tenderfoot who was weighing up consulted his guide-book. "Eight
cents," he said to the Indian. Whereupon the Indians laughed
scornfully and chorused, "Forty cents!" A pained expression came into
his face, and he looked about him anxiously. The sympathetic light in
Frona's eyes caught him, and he regarded her with intent blankness.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25