Dawson at last! The river banks were crowded with tents, where prospectors were camped. We tied up our boat half a mile up the Klondike River, where we hoped it would be safe. We saw all kinds of boats, each one tied to a bush or stake.
    Even though we knew we were classed as Cheechakos, or newcomers, we already felt like old Sourdoughs. “This sure doesn't look much like of a city,” exclaimed Jim. “Just a mud street with a few wooden buildings. But anywhere we can find something to eat that we haven't cooked ourselves sounds great to me!”
     Nevertheless, we could feel the excitement of the place, and understand what people meant when they talked about “Klondike Fever.” But our stomachs were still empty, so we stopped at the first restaurant we saw, where large, handwritten letters proclaimed:

A big stack of flapjacks, with bacon and coffee, made us feel considerably better. After we finished I said, “Well, fellas, now we'd better get down to business building that log cabin, so we'll have a headquarters. Even though it seems as if spring has just begun, we all know that winter is less than three months away.“
     Dave and I had agreed to build one with Art and Ted, two men we had met along the way. “Let's look around here and see what we can find first,” Ted suggested.

- 35 -