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Show 82 "Well, don't worry that I ' l l t e l l anyone," Tip said. "We don't have many v i s i t o r s on t h i s r a f t ." " I t ' s something to do with horses," I said. "Maybe own a ranch with horses-like the one in Wyoming. Or be a veterinarian. I don't know y e t . " I slapped at a couple of mosquitoes that had f i n a l l y found us. "Let's push off this floating garden," I said, "or the gold will a l l be gone before we get there." We jumped off, pushed from the rocks, and climbed back on board. The blossoms that f e l l from the raft whirled like Spanish dancers i n the rippling mint-green water. We had heard about Miles Canyon from the Mounties a t Lake Bennett. In fact, I had drawn a rough map of the route to Dawson City from t h e i r descriptions. The upper Yukon was a series of lakes, connected by r i v e r s. Miles Canyon was midway on Fiftymile River, linking Lake Marsh to Lake Laberge. At the canyon, between walls of dark b a s a l t , the river narrowed to one-third i t s size. In i t s center was a whirlpool. From t h i s point the river constricted to a mere t h i r t y feet. The upper Yukon waters gushed through this narrow passage and burst out i n t o two sets of rapids-the Squaw Rapids, rushing over a series of j u t t i n g rocks, and then the Whitehorse Rapids, with |