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Show 153 The frozen river cracked like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Then all fury broke loose: ice piled on top of ice; water rushed over the riverbanks and surged up under the boardwalks of Front Street. And we all cheered as we moved back with the water. Out in midstream a bobcat crouched, terrified, on a block of ice, whirling down the river. Dogs chased it along the river-bank, yapping and howling. I remember feeling glad that I was not that bobcat, "We are sourdoughs, Tip," I said, grabbing her hand. "Genuine, bona fide, simon-pure Yukon sourdoughs!" "And crazy rich," Tip shouted. We danced uninhibited on the boardwalks of the flooded street. Before we left Dawson City, I went over to the A.C. Company bulletin board, hoping to find a note from Snorin' Sam. There was a note, curled and faded, with my name on it. I quickly pulled it from the nail: J. Erickson: Snorin* Sam died l a s t f a l l. Scurvy. He was a good man. Sorry. Pete and Mac, his partners |