He had been with those who first found the fabled SealIslands； but he had not returned with them to share thewealth of furs in the mad orgies of Kamtchatka. He hadsworn never to go back. He knew that to win to those dearcapitals of Europe he must go on. So he had changed shipsand remained in the dark new land. His comrades wereSlavonian hunters and Russian adventurers， Mongols andTartars and Siberian aborigines； and through the savagesof the new world they had cut a path of blood. They hadmassacred whole villages that refused to furnish the furtribute；and they， in turn， had been massacred by ships’
companies. He， with one Finn， had been the sole survivorof such a company. They had spent a winter of solitudeand starvation on a lonely Aleutian isle， and their rescuein the spring by another fur-ship had been one chance in athousand.
But always the terrible savagery had hemmed him in.
Passing from ship to ship， and ever refusing to return， hehad come to the ship that explored south. All down theAlaska coast they had encountered nothing but hostsof savages. Every anchorage among the beetling islandsor under the frowning cliffs of the mainland had meanta battle or a storm. Either the gales blew， threateningdestruction， or the war canoes came off， manned byhowling natives with the war-paint on their faces， whocame to learn the bloody virtues of the sea-rovers’
gunpowder. South， south they had coasted， clear to themyth-land of California. Here， it was said， were Spanishadventurers who had fought their way up from Mexico.
He had had hopes of those Spanish adventurers. Escapingto them， the rest would have been easy—a year or two，what did it matter more or less—and he would win toMexico， then a ship， and Europe would be his. But theyhad met no Spaniards. Only had they encountered thesame impregnable wall of savagery. The denizens of theconfines of the world， painted for war， had driven themback from the shores. At last， when one boat was cut offand every man killed， the commander had abandoned thequest and sailed back to the north.
The years had passed. He had served under Tebenkoffwhen Michaelovski Redoubt was built. He had spenttwo years in the Kuskokwim country. Two summers， inthe month of June， he had managed to be at the head ofKotzebue Sound. Here， at this time， the tribes assembledfor barter； here were to be found spotted deerskins fromSiberia， ivory from the Diomedes， walrus skins from theshores of the Arctic， strange stone lamps， passing in tradefrom tribe to tribe， no one knew whence， and， once， ahunting-knife of English make； and here， Subienkow knew，was the school in which to learn geography. For he metEskimos from Norton Sound， from King Island and St.
Lawrence Island， from Cape Prince of Wales， and PointBarrow. Such places had other names， and their distanceswere measured in days.
It was a vast region these trading savages came from， anda vaster region from which， by repeated trade， their stonelamps and that steel knife had come. Subienkow bullied，and cajoled， and bribed. Every far-journeyer or strangetribesman was brought before him. Perils unaccountableand unthinkable were mentioned， as well as wild beasts，hostile tribes， impenetrable forests， and mighty mountainranges； but always from beyond came the rumour and thetale of white-skinned men， blue of eye and fair of hair，who fought like devils and who sought always for furs.
They were to the east—far， far to the east. No one hadseen them. It was the word that had been passed along.
It was a hard school. One could not learn geographyvery well through the medium of strange dialects， fromdark minds that mingled fact and fable and that measureddistances by “sleeps” that varied according to the difficultyof the going. But at last came the whisper that gaveSubienkow courage. In the east lay a great river wherewere these blue-eyed men. The river was called the Yukon.
South of Michaelovski Redoubt emptied another greatriver which the Russians knew as the Kwikpak. These tworivers were one， ran the whisper.
Subienkow returned to Michaelovski. For a year he urgedan expedition up the Kwikpak. Then arose Malakoff， theRussian half-breed， to lead the wildest and most ferociousof the hell’s broth of mongrel adventurers who had crossedfrom Kamtchatka. Subienkow was his lieutenant. Theythreaded the mazes of the great delta of the Kwikpak，picked up the first low hills on the northern bank， andfor half a thousand miles， in skin canoes loaded to thegunwales with trade-goods and ammunition， fought theirway against the five-knot current of a river that ran fromtwo to ten miles wide in a channel many fathoms deep.
Malakoff decided to build the fort at Nulato. Subienkowurged to go farther. But he quickly reconciled himselfto Nulato. The long winter was coming on. It would bebetter to wait. Early the following summer， when the icewas gone， he would disappear up the Kwikpak and workhis way to the Hudson Bay Company’s posts. Malakoff hadnever heard the whisper that the Kwikpak was the Yukon，and Subienkow did not tell him.
Came the building of the fort. It was enforced labour.
The tiered walls of logs arose to the sighs and groans ofthe Nulato Indians. The lash was laid upon their backs，and it was the iron hand of the freebooters of the seathat laid on the lash. There were Indians that ran away，and when they were caught they were brought back andspread-eagled before the fort， where they and their tribelearned the efficacy of the knout. Two died under it；others were injured for life； and the rest took the lessonto heart and ran away no more. The snow was flying erethe fort was finished， and then it was the time for furs. Aheavy tribute was laid upon the tribe. Blows and lashingscontinued， and that the tribute should be paid， the womenand children were held as hostages and treated with thebarbarity that only the fur-thieves knew.
