Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. All ready, Miss Welse, though I’m sorry we can’t spare one of the steamer’s boats.<br><br>Frona Welse arose with alacrity and came to the first officer’s side.<br><br>We’re so busy, he explained, and gold-rushers are such perishable freight, at least – <br><br>I understand, she interrupted, and I, too, am behaving as though I were perishable. And I am sorry for the trouble I am giving you, but – but – She turned quickly and pointed to the shore. Do you see that big log-house? Between the clump of pines and the river? I was born there.<br><br>Guess I’d be in a hurry myself, he muttered, sympathetically, as he piloted her along the crowded deck.<br><br>Everybody was in everybody else’s way; nor was there one who failed to proclaim it at the top of his lungs. A thousand gold-seekers were clamoring for the immediate landing of their outfits. Each hatchway gaped wide open, and from the lower depths the shrieking donkey-engines were hurrying the misassorted outfits skyward.
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