noon, and it took the balance of the day to make the Wild Goose as seaworthy as before.
A week and more had slipped by since leaving the Rink Rapids, and now all were on the watch for the first sight of the new gold fields. Every one was in a state of suppressed excitement. They had met half a dozen miners sailing back and forth on the river and from these had learned that everything was "booming," and that strikes were panning out big. The eyes of both Randy and Earl glistened when they heard these stories, and the hardships endured since leaving Dyea were forgotten.
"Hurrah! there's a miner's tent!" suddenly shouted Randy, late one afternoon. "We've struck the diggings at last!"
"There are half a dozen tents and a board cabin!" added Earl, pointing still further on. "I guess you're right. Randy. I wonder if that is the Klondike River over yonder. It looks mighty small."
"That's only a creek," said Foster Portney. "We'll land and see how far we are from Dawson."
The Wild Goose was easily beached, and they lost no time in hunting up the miners to whom the tents and the cabin belonged. They were a party of Frenchmen from Canada and could speak but little English. Dr. Barwaithe spoke to them in their native tongue and soon learned that the place was Baker's Creek and that Dawson City was about six miles further on. The
