CHAPTER XXII.

THE NEW ARRIVAL AT FORTY MILE.

The man known as Strengel was probably as great a rascal as could be found in all Alaska. His sole object in shipping aboard the steamer _Norsk_ at San Francisco had been to make his way, by fair means or foul, to the Yukon gold fields, of which he had gained extravagant ideas. On the night before the _Norsk_ left St. Michaels he stole from the chests of several of his shipmates such small sums of money as they contained, slipped into a canoe, and deserted the ship. He remained in hiding until she sailed, and then, claiming to have been discharged at his own request, offered his services to Gerald Hamer in exchange for a passage to Forty Mile. This proposition being accepted, and Strengel regularly shipped as one of the _Chimo_'s crew, he made a secret proposal to the old company through one of its clerks, who happened to be Simon Goldollar, to so delay and cripple Gerald Hamer's expedition, that he should be forced to abandon it. In attempting to carry out this programme he was foiled by Phil Ryder's quick wit and prompt action.

Making his way back to St. Michaels, after Phil set him ashore at the Pastolik wood-yard, Strengel fell in with Jalap Coombs, and, in company with Goldollar, so managed the money affairs of that unsuspecting sailor that he was unwittingly made to defray all their expenses to Forty Mile, though he only expected to accompany them a short distance up the river. Strengel's sole object was still to reach the gold fields; while Goldollar was intent on winning a reputation for himself by forestalling Gerald Hamer at Forty Mile, and at the same time inflicting what injury he could on Phil Ryder. From the outset they agreed to rid themselves of Jalap Coombs at some point so far up the river that he must necessarily remain where they left him for the rest of the winter. They learned at Nulato that the _Chimo_ was frozen in at Anvik, but took care that this information should not reach Jalap Coombs, whom they soon afterwards so cruelly deserted.

As they travelled beyond the point where they left him, the well-mated pair had such frequent and bitter quarrels, that when Simon Goldollar fell seriously ill, Strengel did not hesitate to rob him of what money he carried and desert him at a native village near the abandoned trading-post of Fort Yukon. Before doing this he discharged the Indians who had come with them from Nulato, and sent them back, telling them that he should remain with his sick friend until he recovered or died. As soon as they were gone he engaged other natives, and set out for the diggings that had for so long been the goal of his desires.

He planned to enter Forty Mile under a new name, and as a traveller from one of the interior Hudson Bay trading-posts, who was ignorant of the lower Yukon, its people, and its happenings. He was confident that Jalap Coombs would never appear to contradict him, and almost equally certain that Simon Goldollar would never reach Forty Mile. If by a miracle he should recover from his illness he was helpless to continue his journey before the boats came up in the summer, by which time the man who had robbed and deserted him would be lost to sight amid the season's rush of prospectors. In the mean time he had plenty of money to live on until he should meet with an opportunity for making a strike of some kind.

Thus it was that on a pleasant day of late January Mr. Strengel approached the mining camp of Forty Mile, riding comfortably in Jalap Coombs's own sledge, with a light heart, and no intimation of aught but an agreeable reception by its citizens. But in all his carefully worked out plans he had made several miscalculations.

It had never occurred to him that there was any other route than the one he had followed by which this point might be reached from the lower river. Nor did he believe it possible that any word of Gerald Hamer's expedition could have come up the river unknown to him. Finally, his gravest mistake lay in supposing the population of this camp to be of the same lawless class as is to be found in most Western mining camps, and believing that here he should meet only with as great rascals as himself. In this he displayed great ignorance of Forty Mile, which was wholly in the hands of honorable old-time miners, who had framed a simple set of laws for the regulation of their isolated little community that they were determined should be respected. They had chosen one of their own number as Judge, and from his decisions they allowed no appeal. They had also elected a Marshal, whom they loyally assisted in the discharge of his duties. Several lawless characters had already been driven from the camp, and many others warned not to venture within its limits.

As Forty Mile had received warning of the expected coming of Goldollar and Strengel, and had learned many interesting things concerning the previous history of these gentlemen, their arrival was eagerly anticipated. Thus, upon Phil Ryder's announcement that sledges were coming up the river, an expectant throng was quickly gathered at the landing.

Mr. Strengel fired several shots from his rifle as he drew near, and was surprised that his salute was not answered in kind. He was, of course, gratified to observe the sensation that his approach was creating, and undertook to arouse some enthusiasm among the silent spectators by yelling: "Hurrah for Forty Mile! Hurrah for the diggings! Hurrah for our side!" Then, as his sledge reached the bank, and he sprang out, he cried, in tones meant to convey hearty good-fellowship:

"How are you, boys? You bet I'm mighty glad to see white men again after camping with a lot of low-lived Injuns for more than two months. You see, I've just come down from Pierre's House in the Porcupine. My name's Bradwick, and--"

Here the speaker's fluent words seemed suddenly to fail him, his face turned pale, and his eyes were fixed in a bewildered stare. He had caught sight of the Yukon Trading Company's sign.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed, recovering himself with an effort. "Seeing the name of an old friend who's long since dead kinder give me a turn. But, as I was saying--"

"Yes, you were just about to tell us what had become of Goldollar," interrupted Mr. Platt Riley, who had received word from Phil that the new-comer was Strengel.

"Goldollar!" stammered the stranger, at the same time starting as though he had been shot. "Goldollar!" he repeated, reflectively; "I don't know the name; never heard it before in my life. I think I mentioned that I'd just come down from Pierre's House on the Porcupine, and hadn't seen a white man since leaving there. There wasn't no one of that name at Pierre's House when I left. What do you mean? Who is Goldollar, anyhow?"

"He's a feller that we heard was coming up from below with a dog train," replied Mr. Riley, deliberately, at the same time gazing full in Strengel's face. "And we didn't know but what you and him might have met up and concluded to travel together."

"How could you hear of him?" inquired the new-comer. "I didn't know there was any way for news to reach Forty Mile in the winter."

"Oh, we might have heard by mail, or telegraph, or seen it in the daily papers, or a dozen other ways. Anyhow, we did hear it, and that another feller was along with him. So of course when we saw you coming up the river--"

"You didn't hear that the other fellow's name was Bradwick, did you?" interrupted the stranger.

"No, that wasn't the name. It wasn't so good a name as that."

"Well, then, you didn't hear that I was coming with him; for Bradwick is my name, and I don't know nothing about any Goldollars, though I hope to find out something about them right here in these diggings," replied Mr. Strengel, boldly, and with attempted jocularity. "Now, seeing that I'm tired, and cold, and hungry," he added, "supposing we adjourn to some place that's warmer than out here in the snow, and better suited for making acquaintances."

"All right," replied Mr. Riley. "We don't know much about Goldollars ourselves, but we'll try and teach you all we do know, and at the same time put you in the way of meeting acquaintances. As you say, though, this is a cold place for talking, so I suppose you might as well come up to my select family boarding-house for the night, seeing as it ain't overcrowded just at present. Then in the morning we'll look round for a place that'll suit you better."

So the new-comer walked away with Mr. Platt Riley, while the spectators of this interesting meeting chuckled and winked significantly, and remarked:

"Ain't the Judge a honey cooler, though? He ain't the kind that'll hang a man first and try him afterwards. Not much; that ain't his style. Fair play's his motter, and turn the rascals out every time."

It is needless to say that during the interview just described Phil, Serge, and Jalap kept themselves out of sight.

All that evening a constant stream of visitors flowed in and out of Mr. Platt Riley's cabin. Each wore an expression of expectancy and suppressed mirth, and each bowed gravely without trusting himself to speak when introduced to Mr. "Bradwick." It was also to be noticed that none of them shook hands with him; when he complained of this to his host he was gravely informed that hand-shaking was not one of the customs of the camp.

On the whole, his impressions of Camp Forty Mile were so unpleasant, that he fully determined to get his dog teams in motion the very next day, and push on further up the river. It was only upon the urgent request of Mr. Platt Riley that he consented to delay his departure long enough to attend a public meeting of the greatest interest to all Yukon miners, that was to be held first thing in the morning.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

RABBITS.

THEIR CARE, AND HOW TO BUILD THEIR HOUSES.

BY E. CHASE.

The first rabbit I had I put in a wooden box. Not knowing anything about his habits, I nailed laths over the front to keep him in. The next morning I was very much surprised to find that bunny had gnawed his way out, and was busily engaged in eating up my last rose-bush.

The next house I built for him was against the back-yard fence. In front of the house I tacked wire netting, and in addition made a yard for him in which to run about, taking good care to cover over the top, so "brer rabbit" could not escape by jumping out. I thought I had him secure this time, but when I was at school he burrowed out under the fence, and ate up all the neighbors' flowers. My first week's experience was certainly very trying on my pocket-book.

Rabbits make very interesting pets if one knows how to take care of them. The house shown in the accompanying diagram proved to be a very serviceable one. It is divided into two "rooms," and has a small run attached. The floor of the house should be provided with sliding pans, which will make clearing an easy matter. In order to keep all dampness from the house it is necessary to raise it a few inches from the ground. In winter--that is, in very severe weather--it would be best to carry this house in-doors. In order to keep the rabbits from burrowing out, it is necessary to drive down stakes, about two feet long, close together, all around the yard. A box sunk in the earth at the further end of the yard, with an opening so that bunny can go in and out, is a luxury that he will greatly appreciate.

For feeding rabbits, give them oats, corn, all kinds of greens, carrots, raw sweet-potatoes, tea-leaves (after they come from the teapot), and milk. I have heard it said that rabbits do not drink, but this is a mistake, as I have had over sixty rabbits at a time, and never knew of one that did not drink.

It is considered best to keep the buck away from the doe until the young are a month old, as he is apt to trample them. The number of young varies from four to eight. They are born without fur, and their eyes are shut. It usually takes ten days for them to open their eyes and get their coats. The first little fellow who ventures from the nest is regarded to be the smartest one of the litter.

I have only been able to discover three species of rabbits--the Angora, with long silky hair; the lop-eared, with very long cars which drag on the ground; and the common rabbit, with which most of us are familiar.

Rabbits are very good barometers in their way. Before a storm they will become unusually frisky. Although the sky may be clear, if you see your pets kicking up their long hind-legs you may make up your mind there will be a shower within a few hours.

A noted French scientist recently experimented with the different small animals as to which could stand the greatest amount of cold. He decided that the rabbit could, for he locked one up overnight in a cake of ice, and the next morning the rabbit hopped out, feeling very well, and with a tremendous appetite. In spite of this notable gentleman's discovery, I have had three valuable rabbits frozen stiff during a siege of cold weather.

KNICKERBOCKER GRAYS.

BY ANNE HELME.

"IN TIME OF PEACE PREPARE FOR WAR."

The clear tones of the bugle sound through the big arsenal, and there is a rush of small gray-clad boys carrying guns to their proper places. Again it sounds attention! Assemble! And a long line is formed of apparently motionless statues. Then comes the roll-call. As in the regular army, the First Sergeant in command calls out the name. His voice is not stentorian, and neither are the answers, but there is a very effective military tone and ring to them, and answering every purpose. The orders are given by the different boys in command--First, Second, and Third Corporal, First, Second, and Third Sergeant, First, Second, and Third Lieutenant, Sergeant-Major, Color-Sergeant, Captain, Adjutant, and Major.

To one who is not conversant with the manual of arms, the commands given are somewhat bewildering; but so well trained are the boys that they answer, and some with military precision, and present arms and carry arms in a delightful manner, eminently military, not always satisfactorily, for the small boys in command have sometimes to repeat their orders, and occasionally Captain Hoyt, the officer in command, and also an officer of the United States army, has to enforce the orders in a more far-reaching voice and authoritative manner.

The Knickerbocker Grays is a private organization intended to instruct the sons of New-Yorkers in the knowledge of drilling. It is managed by several ladies, who give their personal supervision to it. The class meets twice a week during the winter season in the arsenal of the Seventy-first Regiment, at Thirty-fourth Street and Park Avenue. The ages are limited, no boy under seven being allowed to enter. The uniform is gray, with black trimming, and all the military rules as to the number of straps, epaulettes, and accoutrements are rigidly adhered to. The boys learn to march well, although it is a comical sight to see some of the very small boys carrying their muskets and making superhuman efforts to keep time. Perhaps the pathetic note in the picture adds the finishing touch in the little drummer-boy, who, clad in the same uniform, drums with might and main. He is paid to drum, but there is a look of pride and delight in his profession which quite prevents any thought of pity at the contrast in his lot to those of the boys of his own age who go into the drill merely for the sake of occupation and amusement.

The boys love Tuesday and Friday afternoons, and although the stimulus of the medal given to the one who does not miss a single drill has something to do with the wonderful attendance, still it would be difficult to keep the boys away even without having the prize to look forward to. To answer to the name in roll-call is counted necessary, and many a boy who has been far too sick to go to school or study finds it quite possible to be on hand to answer to his name, even if, after a few marches around the armory, his legs do get tired and he has to be excused.

Promotion is eagerly looked forward to, and there is an immense amount of pleasant rivalry over who shall be promoted to be Sergeant, Corporal, and the other officers. The Color-Sergeant carries the colors around with a most heroic disregard to fatigue, while the four boys who make up his body-guard look at him most admiringly, and not in the least enviously. Round and round the hall they go, while the notes of the drum rattle out the time to keep. The officers give their commands, and the companies go from right to left as they are bidden. The officers look very stern, and the soldiers themselves seem thoroughly impressed at the importance of their duty, although the boy nature will crop out at times, and there are occasionally ebullitions of sheer good nature and animal spirit which would hardly do in the regular army. Of course each boy intends fully to be a soldier, and if a war should break out it is to be feared that a number of young recruits would insist upon being of service to their country.

The awkward squad is as amusing as all awkward squads always are, but is only to be seen at the commencement of the winter. It is composed entirely of beginners, who have to attain a certain degree of efficiency before they can be put with the others. But as the American boy is very imitative, he soon learns, and at the end of the term it would be difficult for any one to pick out the boys who had only belonged for one winter. The Captains and Lieutenants are fine, manly-looking fellows, and their plumed caps and glittering accoutrements are extremely becoming. They have a full sense of the dignity of their position, as why should they not have, when promoted from the ranks, step by step, to the proud office which they now hold? They have not bought their commissions, but have earned them by good, conscientious work. The boy who shirks, fools, and carries on has the mortification of staying a private, while his comrade goes steadily upward. The two officers in charge, Captain Hoyt and assistant, have, the boys complain, regular lynx eyes, and sometimes find out trifling acts that are not compatible with military discipline, much to the surprise of the fellows themselves. When a boy is promoted, his promotion receives no end of congratulation and applause from his fellow-soldiers, and it is doubtful if a prouder moment can come in any man's life than comes to the boy when he is put in command of the Knickerbocker Grays.

There is considerable emulation among the different companies. The Grays, by-the-way, are divided into four companies, A, B, C, and D, and each officer endeavors to have his company the best of all. And woe be to the boy who _is_ insubordinate. However, cases of real insubordination are extremely rare, for the boys soon catch the spirit of true military life, and realize that the commands given must be obeyed at once and without any question. It is contended, and with reason, that one of the best features of the drill is this very spirit of discipline, which every mother knows is one of the most difficult things in the world to inculcate in boys.

The first movements of the regiment are quite picturesque. After the roll-call the First Sergeant in command calls out "Count fours!" in other words dividing off four boys at a time; if they are more than make even fours, the Second or Third Sergeant takes the extra boys and reports with them to the Color-Sergeant, who takes them for his guard. "Right four, fours right," is then called, and the boys take their positions. The First Sergeant faces about and salutes his Captain. When the Captain has returned his salute, the Sergeant takes his post two paces behind the company. Now is heard the tread of feet, and the Captain to whose company the colors belong commands "Carry arms! Present arms!" Then the Color-Sergeant and the body-guard march in front of the company, and the Color-Sergeant takes his place two paces to the left of the Third Sergeant, who is on the left guard of his company--and the drill begins.

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.

Do I ever have the blues? Why, Lottie, what a question to come from a girl of sixteen? Am I to infer that you do, at your age, with the world a blaze of beauty, and your feet so light and your heart so young that you ought to go skipping instead of walking, if only you dared to let the gladness of your life overflow.

But girls _do_ have the blues, insists Gretchen, at my elbow; and she adds that they have reasons enough: that they are not always understood, that they have fancies and thoughts which they cannot always explain, that, in short, girls are not always as happy as they look.

Granting that this may be true of some girls, what are they to do? As a person not subject to these disagreeable visitations, I can speak with the sort of authority the doctor has when he enters the room of a patient. The doctor need not have a fever in order to prescribe for it. In fact, he will prescribe more successfully if he be well himself. The blues make the person suffering from their presence extremely uncomfortable, and her discomfort in a subtle way acts upon others, so that nobody is quite cheerful in her neighborhood. People who are "blue" are quite often cross as well, and are unable to accept pleasantly the ups and downs of every day. Now, when you think of it, you must admit that it is a very humiliating experience to be cross, for cross people are 'disagreeable, and none of us wishes to be _that_.

The best way to get rid of the blues is not to own that they have you. Put on your hat and go for a walk. Call on a friend and take her the piece of music you are to try together, or the book you have just finished, which you would like to lend her. Do something kind for somebody, and stop thinking about yourself. The greatest waste of time in this world, dears, is to think too much about one's self. Mrs. Browning gives the right idea in her poem, "My Kate," where she says,

"'Twas her thinking of others made you think of her."

Don't laugh at me, girls, when I tell you that half the low spirits one hears of springs from a very prosaic source. That pound of chocolates, that rich pudding, that piece of frosted cake, all of them very delicious, but all very indigestible, are to blame, in most instances, for a young girl's depression. Try what Emerson called "plain living and high thinking," and see how cheery life will become.

One of my girls writes that she had a vexatious little problem. She has been accustomed to correspond freely with one or two friends--boys of her own age--and "people tell her it is wrong." My dear child, pray explain whom you mean by "people," and what they have to do with it?

Of course you do not write letters to any one without your mother's approval, and I suppose your mother reads your letters, that you love to share all those you receive with her, and that you show her those you write. If you do this, nobody else is concerned. A girl should write no letters, and should receive none, which she is not only willing but very glad to show to her mother. When she has had the great misfortune to lose her mother, then her aunt, or her elder sister, or some kind matronly friend should be her confidante. It makes no difference to whom she writes, if only she does it openly, and with the sympathy, advice, and loving approval of those who are older than she, and able to guide her.

OFF WITH THE MERBOY.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.