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Updated: May 4, 2025
"If we catch 'em we'll never pass 'em," he panted. "Lord, what a pace they're hittin'. Dollars to doughnuts they're no chechakos. They're the real sour-dough variety, you can stack on that." Smoke was leading when they finally caught up, and he was glad to ease to a walk at their heels. Almost immediately he got the impression that the one nearer him was a woman.
"The new-comers get in on the rich creeks, and the old-timers, who dared and suffered and made this country, get nothing. Old-timers made this discovery on Squaw Creek how it leaked out is the mystery and they sent word up to all the old-timers on Sea Lion. But it's ten miles farther than Dawson, and when they arrive they'll find the creek staked to the skyline by the Dawson chechakos.
Nothing of further importance occurred until next morning when our steamer pulled up alongside the dock at Dawson. It was Monday morning, the thirtieth of July, 1899, and the weather was beautifully clear. I had been fourteen days coming from Seattle. Hundreds of people waited upon the dock to see us land, and to get a glimpse of a new lot of "Chechakos," as all newcomers are called.
"Do you mind if I lead?" she asked Smoke, as she headed on. "I know this country better than you." "Lead on," Smoke answered gallantly, "though I agree with you it's a darned shame all us chechakos are going to beat that Sea Lion bunch to it. Isn't there some way to shake them?" She shook her head. "We can't hide our trail, and they'll follow it like sheep."
"And have you married and raised all those children you were telling me about?" Before he could retort, she went on. "How many chechakos are there behind?" "Several thousand, I imagine. We passed over three hundred. And they weren't wasting any time." "It's the old story," she said bitterly.
Being "chechakos" they were supreme in their conceit, and refused to heed his advice. Returning at bed time he found his partner webbing a pair of snow-shoes by the light of a stinking "go-devil," consisting of a string suspended in a can of molten grease. The camp had sold them grub, but refused the luxury of candles. Noting his gravity, George questioned: "Well, how's Menard?" "Dead!"
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