ON WHITE RIVERAfter Moosehide Charlie had departed, Ken and Bill pitched their tent on a sand bar and proceeded to cook a supper of boiled rice, bacon, and tea. They had learned the art of trail camping from Moosehide, the basic principle of which was to “b’ile up enough grub nights when you’ve got time, so you’ll have cold vittles to last till the next night.”
Ken filled his pipe and glanced across the fire at his cousin. “Well, we’re on our own now. Just think, Bill—this may be the very bar where Granddad and Jake Valentine landed when they floated down the Yukon in ’52—the bar where Jake panned the nuggets that took them up this river instead of on down the Yukon.”
“Yeah, and only one of them came back. Maybe only one of us will, too. It might have been better if they’d gone on down t
