Publisher's Synopsis
It was the gosh-dangdest stampede I ever seen. A thousand dog-teams hittin' the ice. You couldn'tsee 'm fer smoke. Two white men an' a Swede froze to death that night, an' there was a dozenbusted their lungs. But didn't I see with my own eyes the bottom of the water-hole? It was yellowwith gold like a mustard-plaster. That's why I staked the Yukon for a minin' claim. That's whatmade the stampede. An' then there was nothin' to it. That's what I said-NOTHIN' to it. An' Iain't got over guessin' yet.-NARRATIVE OF SHORTY.John Messner clung with mittened hand to the bucking gee-pole and held the sled in the trail. Withthe other mittened hand he rubbed his cheeks and nose. He rubbed his cheeks and nose every littlewhile. In point of fact, he rarely ceased from rubbing them, and sometimes, as their numbnessincreased, he rubbed fiercely. His forehead was covered by the visor of his fur cap, the flaps ofwhich went over his ears. The rest of his face was protected by a thick beard, golden-brown underits coating of frost.Behind him churned a heavily loaded Yukon sled, and before him toiled a string of five dogs. Therope by which they dragged the sled rubbed against the side of Messner's leg. When the dogs swungon a bend in the trail, he stepped over the rope. There were many bends, and he was compelled tostep over it often. Sometimes he tripped on the rope, or stumbled, and at all times he was awkward, betraying a weariness so great that the sled now and again ran upon his heels.When he came to a straight piece of trail, where the sled could get along for a moment withoutguidance, he let go the gee-pole and batted his right hand sharply upon the hard wood. He found itdifficult to keep up the circulation in that hand. But while he pounded the one hand, he neverceased from rubbing his nose and cheeks with the other
