



Produced by Al Haines









[Illustration: Cover art]




[Frontispiece: ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE.]




A CLAIM ON KLONDIKE


A Romance

OF

THE ARCTIC EL DORADO



BY

EDWARD ROPER, F.R.G.S.


AUTHOR OF

'BY TRACK AND TRAIL THROUGH CANADA,' ETC., ETC.



_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

MDCCCXCIX



_All Rights reserved_




ILLUSTRATIONS.


ALONE IN THE VAST SOLITUDE...... _Frontispiece_

SHOOTING MYLES CANYON

LAKE LA BARGE

FIVE FINGERS RAPIDS

ON THE YUKON AT THE MOUTH OF THE KLONDYKE RIVER

OUR DUG-OUT, OUR TUNNEL, AND OUR SLUICE

"WHEN SHE APPEARED AGAIN I WAS GREATLY EMBARRASSED"

MAY AND I IN THE DUG-OUT

"IT WAS A MELANCHOLY UNDERTAKING"

"WELCOME, FRIENDS."




A CLAIM ON KLONDYKE



PREAMBLE.

Somewhere near midnight in January 1897, a man--important to this
little history--stood on an expanse of glittering snow, amidst low
forest-covered hills and rugged mountains which were draped in the same
white garb.  He was looking eagerly towards the north-west, and was
listening intently.

This man was muffled to the eyes in furs, he wore a rough bearskin
coat, and his head was enveloped in a huge capote.  He wore snow-shoes,
and a gun lay across his arm.

A grand long-haired dog was by his side; he was listening, seemingly as
intently as his master.

The moon was shining full, the deep purple sky was sown thick with
brilliant stars,--one could have read small print easily, it was so
light.

Not a breath of air was stirring.

The intensity of the cold was indescribable: if there had been the
slightest wind, this man could not have stood thus, in this open space,
and lived.

He was a large man really, but the immensity of his surroundings, the
vast field of dazzling snow on which he stood, made him appear to be a
pigmy, whilst his loneliness and solitude gave a note of unutterable
melancholy to the scene.

Several minutes passed, neither dog nor man moving from this attitude
of strained attention.  All nature was absolutely motionless; no branch
stirred in the near forest, nor was one flake of snow wafted by the
softest zephyr--yet there was no silence.  The far-off woods resounded
with frequent sharp reports, as if firearms were being discharged
there, the nearer rocks and trees from time to time gave forth
detonations like fusilades of musketry, and beneath his feet--he stood
on a broad space of water, turned to ice of unknown depth, cushioned
deep with snow--were groanings, grindings, cracklings, and explosions.
It was the terrible arctic cold that caused this tumult.  One could
almost fancy that these two figures, silhouetted black against the
dazzling white, were frozen solid too.

At length the man moved, and, patting his companion's head with his
gauntleted hand, spoke, "No, good dog," he sighed, "it's another
hallucination."  And the dog looked up at him, and whimpered, then
turned his gaze again in the direction it had been before, with
eagerness.

It was impossible to guess from this man's appearance what he was like:
he was so enveloped in wrappers only his eyes were visible; but his
voice proclaimed him to be gently bred--it had the accent of a
cultivated Englishman.

"No good," he went on muttering.  "Let us get back, old Patch, my sole
companion in this awful wilderness; it was not a shot we heard, only
the frost that made that clamour," and he made as if to move away.

But the dog evidently was not satisfied.  He sat down, kept his nose
pointed in the one direction, and whimpered again and again.  The man
stood still and listened.

"Strange, strange," he spoke aloud, "that Patch is so persistent;
perhaps it will be well to go on a bit more.  There's nothing to
prevent it--no one waiting for us.  I suppose it is about midnight by
the moon; but night or day, it's pretty much the same up here.  Yes;
we'll go on along this frozen creek