Imagine the excitement that swept the country in the year 1897—there was GOLD along the Klondike!

When young Joe Murray left his mother and sister Annie that summer day in Seattle to head north with his father, he was a green-horn cheechako to be sure. Yet the long trail up over the treacherous Chilkoot Pass and on to the gold fields was enough to prepare him for hardships ahead. Beyond Dawson City, rushing rivers and swirling White Horse Rapids carried the two past ominous Squaw Whirlpool, deeper into the Canadian wilderness.

Then at last the Klondike! But every inch of land along the river banks had already been claimed. Luck was bad until the Murrays met Caribou Dave who led them to a strike on Gold Creek, as winter set in with its black polar winds.

Food was scarce, and Joe, with Dave, drove a team of Malamutes across the frozen wastes in search of caribou ... Then gold was struck! The hardest work was still ahead. By that spring, Joe and his father were no longer cheechakos—but sourdoughs who had braved a harsh wilderness to mine the turbulent Klondike.

From the dust jacket