I ask. She laugh at me， a hard laugh， but she is still muchafraid. Also is she very tired. I run canoe through rapids toLake Bennett. Water very bad， and woman cry out becauseshe is afraid. We go down Lake Bennett， snow， ice， windlike a gale， but woman is very tired and go to sleep.
“That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sitby fire and eat supper. I look at her. She is pretty. She fixhair. There is much hair， and it is brown， also sometimesit is like gold in the firelight， when she turn her head， so，and flashes come from it like golden fire. The eyes are largeand brown， sometimes warm like a candle behind a curtain，sometimes very hard and bright like broken ice when sunshines upon it. When she smile—how can I say？ —whenshe smile I know white man like to kiss her， just like that，when she smile. She never do hard work. Her hands aresoft， like baby’s hand. She is soft all over， like baby. Sheis not thin， but round like baby； her arm， her leg， hermuscles， all soft and round like baby. Her waist is small，and when she stand up， when she walk， or move her heador arm， it is—I do not know the word—but it is nice tolook at， like—maybe I say she is built on lines like the linesof a good canoe， just like that， and when she move she islike the movement of the good canoe sliding through stillwater or leaping through water when it is white and fastand angry. It is very good to see.
“Why does she come into Klondike， all alone， with plentyof money？ I do not know. Next day I ask her. She laughand says： ‘Sitka Charley， that is none of your business. Igive you one thousand dollars take me to Dawson. Thatonly is your business.’ Next day after that I ask her what isher name. She laugh， then she says， ‘Mary Jones， that is myname.’ I do not know her name， but I know all the timethat Mary Jones is not her name.
“It is very cold in canoe， and because of cold sometimesshe not feel good. Sometimes she feel good and she sing.
Her voice is like a silver bell， and I feel good all over likewhen I go into church at Holy Cross Mission， and whenshe sing I feel strong and paddle like hell. Then she laughand says， ‘You think we get to Dawson before freezeup，Charley？’ Sometimes she sit in canoe and is thinkingfar away， her eyes like that， all empty. She does not seeSitka Charley， nor the ice， nor the snow. She is far away.
Very often she is like that， thinking far away. Sometimes，when she is thinking far away， her face is not good to see.
It looks like a face that is angry， like the face of one manwhen he want to kill another man.
“Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all theeddies， mush-ice in the stream. I cannot paddle. Thecanoe freeze to ice. I cannot get to shore. There is muchdanger. All the time we go down Yukon in the ice. Thatnight there is much noise of ice. Then ice stop， canoe stop，everything stop. ‘Let us go to shore，’ the woman says. I sayno， better wait. By and by， everything start down-streamagain. There is much snow. I cannot see. At eleven o’clockat night， everything stop. At one o’clock everything startagain. At three o’clock everything stop. Canoe is smashedlike eggshell， but is on top of ice and cannot sink. I heardogs howling. We wait. We sleep. By and by morningcome. There is no more snow. It is the freeze-up， andthere is Dawson. Canoe smash and stop right at Dawson.
Sitka Charley has come in with two thousand letters onvery last water.
“The woman rent a cabin on the hill， and for oneweek I see her no more. Then， one day， she come to me.
‘Charley，’ she says， ‘how do you like to work for me？ Youdrive dogs， make camp， travel with me.’ I say that I maketoo much money carrying letters. She says， ‘Charley， I willpay you more money.’ I tell her that pick-and-shovel manget fifteen dollars a day in the mines. She says， ‘That isfour hundred and fifty dollars a month.’ And I say， ‘SitkaCharley is no pick-and-shovel man.’ Then she says， ‘Iunderstand， Charley. I will give you seven hundred andfifty dollars each month.’ It is a good price， and I go towork for her. I buy for her dogs and sled. We travel upKlondike， up Bonanza and Eldorado， over to IndianRiver， to Sulphur Creek， to Dominion， back across divideto Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold， and back toDawson. All the time she look for something， I do notknow what. I am puzzled. ‘What thing you look for？’ Iask. She laugh. ‘You look for gold？’ I ask. She laugh. Thenshe says， ‘That is none of your business， Charley.’ And afterthat I never ask any more.
“She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt.
Sometimes， on trail， she makes practice with revolver. Ilaugh. ‘What for you laugh， Charley？’ she ask. ‘What foryou play with that？’ I say. ‘It is no good. It is too small.
It is for a child， a little plaything.’ When we get back toDawson she ask me to buy good revolver for her. I buy aColt’s 44. It is very heavy， but she carry it in her belt allthe time.
“At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I donot know. Only do I know he is CHECHA-QUO—whatyou call tenderfoot. His hands are soft， just like hers. Henever do hard work. He is soft all over. At first I thinkmaybe he is her husband. But he is too young. Also， theymake two beds at night. He is maybe twenty years old. Hiseyes blue， his hair yellow， he has a little mustache which isyellow. His name is John Jones. Maybe he is her brother.
I do not know. I ask questions no more. Only I think hisname not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. Girvan. Ido not think that is his name. I do not think her name isMiss Girvan， which other people call her. I think nobodyknow their names.
“One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up.