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Show U3 The five other days I mentioned were howling snowstorms- days which I spent in the bunkhouse. I watched the frowning Chilkoots, and when they stopped packing, I stopped. Those stampeders who did not were found along the trail-frozen. That month I walked 160 miles and moved up the trail eight miles. I did not know if I should be happy or if I should give up. Every day I saw hundreds of men, but they all looked the same-plodding along facedown under their loads. I could not tell if they were the same or different ones. One sunny day in mid-November I passed the dance-hall girls, sitting on a boulder with their boots off, I did not notice them at first because they were wearing pants just like men. The skinny boy was with them, too. "Jamie," they called when I passed. "Come and sit by us." They waved their arms and their boots and their wet stockings. I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. "Can't stop now," I called back, and walked as fast as I could. On my return trip they were a few miles farther along, sitting on another rock. They had apparently hired the leaping Chilkoots to pack their supplies-no doubt a ton of ruffled dresses in soldered tin boxes. "Jamie," they called again. "You are going the wrong way." I stopped, deciding to give that mollycoddled boy one more |
