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Updated: May 17, 2025
"You know what Butts done to Jack McQuestion. You ain't forgot how he sneaked Jack's watch!" The incident was historic. Every eye on Butts. Charlie caught up breath and courage. "An' t'odder night w'en Maudie treat me like she done" he shot a blazing glance at the double-dyed traitor "I fixed it up with Butts. Got him to go soft on 'er and nab 'er ring." "You didn't!" shouted Maudie.
For days he wandered through a chaos of canyons and divides which did not yield themselves to any rational topographical plan. It was as if they had been flung there by some cosmic joker. In vain he sought for a creek or feeder that flowed truly south toward the McQuestion and the Stewart. Then came a mountain storm that blew a blizzard across the riff-raff of high and shallow divides.
"And when I start it will be up the McQuestion, not down. I want you to go along with me, Breck. We're going to search that other bank for the man that really did the killing." "If you'll listen to me, you'll head down for the Stewart and the Yukon," Breck objected. "When this gang gets back from my low-grade hydraulic proposition, it will be seeing red." Smoke laughed and shook his head.
But the following spring always found him drifting down the Yukon on the tail of the ice jams. Jack McQuestion aptly vindicates the grip of the North. After a residence of thirty years he insists that the climate is delightful, and declares that whenever he makes a trip to the States he is afflicted with home-sickness.
Sixty or seventy miles above the last-mentioned branch another large branch joins, which is possibly the main river. At the head of it he found a lake nearly thirty miles long, and averaging a mile and a half in width, which he called Mayhew Lake, after one of the partners in the firm of Harper, McQuestion & Co.
In the mean time, Corliss and Bishop, who had been on trail for a month or more running over the Mayo and McQuestion Country, rounded up on the left fork of Henderson, where a block of claims waited to be surveyed.
He had come into the country in the days of Jack McQuestion, across the Rockies from the Great Slave. On being told to go ahead with what he knew of the matter in hand, he deliberated a moment, as though casting about for the best departure.
"And when I start it will be up the McQuestion, not down. I want you to go along with me, Breck. We're going to search that other bank for the man that really did the killing." "If you'll listen to me, you'll head down for the Stewart and the Yukon," Breck objected. "When this gang gets back from my low-grade hydraulic proposition, it will be seeing red." Smoke laughed and shook his head.
The names of these three men, as their lives, are bound up in the history of the country, and so long as there be histories and charts, that long will the Mayo and McQuestion rivers and the Harper and Ladue town site of Dawson be remembered. As an agent of the Alaska Commercial Company, in 1873, McQuestion built Fort Reliance, six miles below the Klondike River.
The creek he was on was natural in appearance, and tended as it should toward the southwest. But Surprise Lake was as lost to him as it had been to all its seekers in the past. Half a day's journey down the creek brought him to the valley of a larger stream which he decided was the McQuestion. Here he shot a moose, and once again each wolf-dog carried a full fifty-pound pack of meat.
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