accomplishment, had been left behind; here was the wilderness,
primitive, hostile, merciless. Every foot they moved, every ounce
they carried, was at the cost of muscular exertion. It was only
natural that they should take on the color of their surroundings.

Money lost its value a mile above Sheep Camp said became a thing
of weight, a thing to carry. The standard of value was the pound,
and men thought in hundredweights or in tons. Yet there was no
relief, no respite, for famine stalked in the Yukon and the
Northwest Mounted were on guard, hence these unfortunates were
chained to their grub-piles as galley-slaves are shackled to their
benches.

Toe to heel, like peons rising from the bowels of a mine, they
bent their backs and strained up that riven rock wall. Blasphemy
and pain, high hopes and black despair, hearts overtaxed and eyes
blind with fatigue, that was what the Chilkoot stood for.
Permeating the entire atmosphere of the place, so that even the
dullest could feel it, was a feverish haste, an apprehensive
demand for speed, more speed, to keep ahead of the pressing
thousands coming on behind.

Pierce Phillips breasted the last rise to the Summit, slipped his
pack-straps, and flung himself full length upon the ground. His
lungs felt as if they were bursting, the blood surged through his
veins until he rocked, his body streamed with sweat, and his legs
were as heavy as if molded from solid iron. He was pumped out,
winded; nevertheless, he felt his strength return with magic
swiftness, for he possessed that marvelous recuperative power of
youth, and, like some fabled warrior, new strength flowed into him