“I sha’n’t let you.  I’ve seen too much drinking—­gambling.  I’ll hold you to your pledge.”

Again the man smiled; there was a light of warm affection in his eyes.  “By Gar!  It’s nice t’ing to have sister w’at care for you.  When we goin’ start for Dawson, eh?”

“To-morrow.”

CHAPTER XIX

Every new and prosperous mining-camp has an Arabian Nights atmosphere, characteristic, peculiar, indescribable.  Especially noticeable was this atmosphere in the early Arctic camps, made up as they were of men who knew little about mining, rather less about frontier ways, and next to nothing about the country in which they found themselves.  These men had built fabulous hopes, they dwelt in illusion, they put faith in the thinnest of shadows.  Now the most practical miner is not a conservative person; he is erratic, credulous, and extravagant; reasonless optimism is at once his blessing and his curse.  Nevertheless, the “old-timers” of the Yukon were moderate indeed as compared with the adventurous holiday-seekers who swarmed in upon their tracks.  Being none too well balanced themselves, it was only natural that the exuberance of these new arrivals should prove infectious and that a sort of general auto-intoxication should result.  That is precisely what happened at Dawson.  Men lost all caution, all common sense; they lived in a land of rosy imaginings; hard-bought lessons of experience were forgotten; reality disappeared; fancy took wing and left fact behind; expectations were capitalized and no exaggeration was too wild to challenge acceptance.  It became a City of Frenzy.

It was all very fine for an ardent youth like Pierce Phillips; it set him ablaze, stirring a fever in his blood.  Having won thus far, he made the natural mistake of believing that the race was his; so he wasted little time in the town, but very soon took to the hills, there to make his fortune and be done with it.

Here came his awakening.  Away from the delirium of the camp, in contact with cold reality, he began to learn something of the serious, practical business of gold-mining.  Before he had been long on the creeks he found that it was no child’s play to wrest treasure from the frozen bosom of a hostile wilderness, and that, no matter how rich or how plentiful the treasure, Mother Earth guarded her secrets jealously.  He began to realize that the obstacles he had so blithely overcome in getting to the Klondike were as nothing to those in the way of his further success.  Of a sudden his triumphal progress slowed down and he came to a pause; he began to mark time.

There was work in plenty to be had, but, like most of the new-comers, he was not satisfied to take fixed wages.  They seemed paltry indeed compared with the drunken figures that were on every lip.  In the presence of the uncertain he could not content himself with a sure thing.  Nevertheless, he was soon forced to the necessity of resorting to it, for through the fog of his misapprehensions, beneath the obscurity of his ignorance, he began to discover the true outline of things and to understand that his ideas were impractical.