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Show U8 The snow pressed my tent down around my supplies until it looked like an igloo. I spent most of each day digging out, and then digging back in. And trying to dry my German wool socks, I got so lonely in that tent that I started going to the saloons in the evenings just to be around someone. There were about half a dozen in Canyon City, crowded with sweating, steaming men, no doubt as lonely as I, I went to every one, every night, I stood near the stoves, watching the men drink and play faro, watching them gamble and lose. After I was steaming hot I' d find a portrait on the wall and stand with ray back against it, I could hear those con men behind the removable eyes-cussing me, I suppose one was my old pal, Mr. Con, known to me now as Feathers. And, also, I suppose that was the reason I was not thrown out into the snow. The snow really never stopped falling, but during a lull I saw the Chilkoots starting out for Sheep Camp-five miles of steep, winding, boulder-strewn trail. And with a pack on my back and shovel in hand, I followed. Sheep Camp was a flat spot on the side of the mountain, which had earlier been a camping site for hunters of mountain sheep. Now it was another clutter of tents and shacks squeezed together on the banks of the narrowing Taiya River. I had difficulty finding a place to stack my supplies and |