The Ghost Towns of the Skagit Gold Rush

I wish some of the scenery lovers and painters of this coast could have joined me and my companion on our last three-week trip. We left this place about three weeks ago for a general tramp, eventually heading into the snowy peaks lying between the Skagit River, Goodell’s, and Ruby Creek. We climbed as far as a glacier, which we named Glacier Peak, witnessing massive snowslides that jarred rocks of hundreds of tons from their seats. As one crawls through these dangerous spots, he naturally feels as if he must whisper, and not speak out loud. Chum and I had taken a dog to raise, but there were times when we thought the dog would have been shot, only we were afraid the report of the rifle would start the loose rocks on us. After we finished our ascent and headed back toward the ferry where we left our supplies, judge our surprise, our indignation, our feelings, when we found that some 'contemptible cuss' had stolen nearly all of our supplies. We went on to Ruby City, where we found nearly everyone discouraged. The snow is gradually sliding down the mountains, so we consider it time to leave. Upon arriving at Goodell’s, we find that place looking as if an army of stragglers had gone through it. Deserted houses, broken boxes, barrels, old clothes, shoes, and mining tools prove to us plainly that the boys had been here, but it was in the 'sweet while ago.' The warehouse has been broken open and goods of all kinds were overhauled and stolen. It seems too bad after men have worked so hard to get their supplies this far, to have some long, lean, hungry devil eat them all up in one night. He must have eaten them—he surely would not pack them away.