When Clay Dilham left the tent to get a sled-load offire-wood， he expected to be back in half an hour. So hetold Swanson， who was cooking the dinner. Swanson andhe belonged to different outfits， located about twentymiles apart on the Stuart River； but they had becometraveling partners on a trip down the Yukon to Dawson toget the mail.
Swanson had laughed when Clay said he would be backin half an hour. It stood to reason， Swanson said， that good，dry fire-wood could not be found so close to Dawson； thatwhatever fire-wood there was originally had long since beengathered in； that fire-wood would not be selling at fortydollars a cord if any man could go out and get a sled-loadand be back in the time Clay expected to make it.
Then it was Clay’s turn to laugh as he sprang on the sledand mushed the dogs onto the river-trail. For， coming upfrom the Siwash village the previous day， he had noticeda small dead pine in an out-of-the-way place which haddefied discovery by eyes less sharp than his. And his eyeswere both young and sharp， for his seventeenth birthdaywas just cleared.
A swift ten minutes over the ice brought him to theplace， and figuring ten minutes to get the tree and tenminutes to return made him certain that Swanson’s dinnerwould not wait.
Just below Dawson， and rising out of the Yukon itself，towered the great Moosehide Mountain， so named byLieutenant Schwatka long ere the Klondike becamefamous. On the river side the mountain was scarred andgullied and gored； and it was up one of these gores orgullies that Clay had seen the tree.
Halting his dogs beneath， on the river ice， he looked up，and after some searching rediscovered it. Being dead， itsweather-beaten gray so blended with the gray of rock thata thousand men could pass by and never notice it. Takingroot in a cranny， it had grown up， exhausted its bit of soil，and perished. Beneath it the wall fell sheer away for ahundred feet to the river. All one had to do was to sink anax into the dry trunk a dozen times and it would fall to theice， and most probably smash conveniently to pieces. ThisClay had figured on when confidently limiting the trip tohalf an hour.
He studied the cliff thoroughly before attempting it. Sofar as he was concerned， the longest way round was theshortest way to the tree. Twenty feet of nearly perpendicularclimbing would bring him to where a slide sloped moregently in. By making a long zigzag across the face of thisslide and back again， he would arrive at the pine.
Fastening his ax across his shoulders so that it would notinterfere with his movements， he clawed up the brokenrock， hand and foot， like a cat， till the twenty feet werecleared， and he could draw breath on the edge of the slide.
The slide was steep and its snow-covered surfaceslippery. Further， the heel-less， walrus-hide soles of hismuclucs were polished by much ice travel， and by hissecond step he realized how little he could depend uponthem for clinging purposes. A slip at that point meant aplunge over the edge and a twenty-foot fall to the ice. Ahundred feet farther along， and a slip would mean a fiftyfootfall.
He thrust his mittened hand through the snow to theearth to steady himself， and went on. But he was forcedto exercise such care that the first zigzag consumed fiveminutes. Then， returning across the face of the slidetoward the pine， he met with a new difficulty. The slopesteepened considerably， so that little snow collected， whilebent flat beneath this thin covering were long， dry lastyear’sgrasses.
The surface they presented was glassy as that of hismuclucs， and when both surfaces came together his feetshot out and he fell on his face， sliding downward， andconvulsively clutching for something to stay himself.
This he succeeded in doing， though he lay quiet for acouple of minutes to get back his nerve. He would havetaken off his muclucs and gone at it in his socks， only thecold was thirty below zero， and at such temperature hisfeet would quickly freeze. So he went on， and after tenminutes of risky work made the safe and solid rock wherestood the pine.
A few strokes of the ax felled it into the chasm， andpeeping over the edge， he indulged in a laugh at thestartled dogs. They were on the verge of bolting when hecalled aloud to them， soothingly， and they were reassured.
Then he turned about for the back trip. Going down，he knew， was even more dangerous than coming up，but how dangerous he did not realize till he had slippedhalf a dozen times， and each time saved himself by whatappeared to him a miracle， Time and again he venturedupon the slide， and time and again he was balked when hecame to the grasses.
He sat down and looked at the treacherous snowcoveredslope. It was manifestly impossible for him tomake it with a whole body， and he did not wish to arrive atthe bottom shattered like the pine-tree.
But while he sat inactive the frost was stealing in onhim， and the quick chilling of his body warned him thathe could not delay. He must be doing something to keephis blood circulating. If he could not get down by goingdown， there only remained to him to get down by goingup. It was a Herculean task， but it was the only way out ofthe predicament.
From where he was he could not see the top of thecliff， but he reasoned that the gully in which lay the slidemust give inward more and more as it approached thetop. From what little he could see， the gully displayed thistendency； and he noticed， also， that the slide extended formany hundreds of feet upward， and that where it endedthe rock was well broken up and favorable for climbing.
Here and there， at several wide intervals， small masses ofrock projected through the snow of the slide itself， givingsufficient stability to the enterprise to encourage him.