WAY OF THE NORTH by James B Hendryx – Prospector & Western Writer

Introducing James B Hendryx.

My James B Hendryx Tribute.

WAY OF THE NORTH by James B Hendryx – Prospector of the Fabulous Klondike Gold Rush of ’98 & Popular Western Writer. Book Review.

In the Introduction to the March 10th, 1944, edition of Short Story Magazine, William Heuman wrote this about Northwestern & Western writer James B Hendryx:

“NEW! Jim Hendryx serial starts in this issue – WAY OF THE NORTH.”

Among the great historical stampedes for gold, that of the Klondike is unique in its hardship. And in certain cases, its reward.

In Canada’s mighty and mystic Northwest, placer mining along the rivers and creeks flowing into the Yukon had been carried on for a number of years before George Carmack, “the Squaw Man,” made history. His phenomenal strike in August, 1896, was at the roots of a birch tree on the watery banks of what was then known as Rabbit Creek, later named Bonanza. “Gold! I found gold!”

The stampede popularly referred to as “the Klondike Gold Rush” was in reality three stampedes.

The first, following closely on the heels of Carmack’s strike, was a Stampede of Sourdoughs. Most of them from downriver — Forty Mile, Birch Creek, etc. And many of these old-timers who were wise to the placer game. And to the way of life in the subarctic. They got in on the ground floor and made vast fortunes. Some of the richest personal gold strikes ever!

The second was a stampede of hardy men mostly from the western states. Who heard of the new gold field through various channels, and lit out for the new Eldorado.

The third — the Big Stampede — was a Stampede of Cheechakos (tenderfeet).

And followed the news of the July 17, 1897 landing of the steamship Portland in Seattle, carrying some sixty excited miners. Who brought eight hundred thousand dollars in gold out with them. Their story was quickly telegraphed around the world.

There were many good men in this stampede. But also there were many who were entirely unfit to cope with the rigors of this far Northern frontier. And there were the parasites, male and female, the off-scouring of city brothels, gambling houses, and slums. And even wanted outlaws. Who all envisioned rich pickings in the new gold camps.

The population of the town of Dawson, or Dawson City, as it was called, jumped from two thousand to forty thousand during six months in 1898.

Given this set-up anything might happen. And nearly everything did, in the way of romance, tragedy, and comedy.

Poor men made fortunes. Rich men went broke. Men starved to death on the creeks, froze to death on the tundra, drank themselves to death in the towns, and died of scurvy in their cabins.

It’s the sheer adventure of the undertaking — the friendships formed — the incidents of heart-breaking tragedy, that the first writers reported. And the Side-splitting comedy that were of daily occurrence during the placer days — the days of “poor man’s gold” on the Yukon River.

There would be other talented writers who knew the thrills, fears and romance of the Klondike. Touched the shining gold dust or had at least seen it in the hands of others. And tell their tales. Robert W Service, the Bard of the Yukon, for instance. But somehow it was two men who powerfully caught the tragedy and the comedy of the place and times: Jack London and James B Hendryx.

Then the big outfits came with their dredges and their steam point drills. And mining became a business instead of an adventure. Romance shifted to Nome, Alaska. And the Klondike Gold Rush was but a memory. But it’s a memory that none who were privileged to be there in the palmy days will ever forget.

Among those was James B Hendryx… That’s one reason why “The Way of the North” is such a good story.

Just like Jack London, James B Hendryx had really been part of the Great Klondike Gold Rush. As a struggling prospector, he never had much success. But he was soaking up the stories, the characters, the life in the hard but beautiful land. And would soon be writing some of the best Northwestern fiction committed to paper.

And the writer James B Hendryx would continue to visit the Canadian Northcountry for years after. Always learning, gathering — and writing.

Read On!

ALONG the Chilkoot Trail, Lake Lindeman was still ice-locked.

Ever widening patches of rock and bare ground showed on the south slopes, as innumerable freshets discharged their waters onto the snow-covered ice of the lake.

Huge frontier camps had sprung up here. In sharp contrast to the lawless, murderous boom town of Skagway and the chaos that prevailed at Sheep Camp (both on the American Side), the Lake Lindeman camp was a camp of Law and Order. The symbol of which was the British flag fluttering from the top of the pole that stood before the tent of Constable Burns, of the North-West Mounted Police.

The snow, thawed to a sudden slush in the rays of the sun, froze to the hardness of iron at night.

All day long men sloshed about felling trees and whip-sawing the logs into lumber. Each night a few sled outfits pulled out onto the lake and disappeared in the darkness. Those were the outfits of the lucky ones who had managed to buy dogs. But for the most part the men at the Lindeman camp were desperately cutting green wood against the time when the ice would go out.

Young Tom Jorden pitched his tent, paid off his Indian packers, and sloshed across a small ravine. There, Tom saw two men, one standing on a scaffold, the other beneath him, whip-sawing a log into lumber.

“Gawd,” the bottom man grinned, as the board was laboriously slabbed off. He paused to wipe the sweat and sawdust from his face and said, “if I’d only know’d enough to fetch in a portable sawmill, I could clean up more money right here than all the gold I’ll ever dig in the Klondike. An’ be back home, come summer.”

The old man on top of the scaffold shunted the log into position for another cut. Noticing Tom for the first time, he called a greeting.

“Hi there, young feller! Where the hell did you go to, down there on the beach?”

“Knocked hell out of them two damn ausses that was stealin’ my outfit. An’ was gone before I could tell you how I appreciated what you done fer me.”

The Old Man laughed. “Oh, that’s all right. Glad to take a crack at ‘em. It was a dirty dip that man hit you.”

“Yeah — but they didn’t git far. I seen the Mounted Police turn ’em back at the Summit.”

“Served the damn thieves right. Got yer lumber sawed yet?”

Tom shook his head. “No, I just got here. Noticed forty or fifty of these saw outfits going, and came over to see what it’s all about.”

The oldster chuckled. “You’ll know all about it before you git yer lumber sawed.”

“But — what do I want with lumber?”

“Lumber to build you a boat! If you ain’t got no dogs an’ a sled. Cripes, it’s six hundred miles down through the lakes till we get to where the gold’s at…”

And so Tom Jorden’s story had begun. He was about to learn all about the thrilling and the cruel Ways of the North.

The Way of the North – My James B Hendryx tribute.

If you want to meet one of the greatest writers of the Klondike Gold Rush…

THEN YOU’VE GOT TO SEE “THE WRITERS OF THE NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE” — MY MOST POPULAR LITERARY HISTORY POST:

“Thanks for a wonderful in-depth article on Mountie fiction. I’m a big fan of the Mounties and I really enjoyed the amount of details you provided and found many, many more books to put on my wish list.” Jack Wagner

“I just discovered your blog recently and need to dig deeper into it. That post on Mountie fiction is great!” Western writer James Reasoner

An extensive look at the writers who created the magnificent Mythology of our North-West Mounted Police. My Top 10 Mountie Fiction Writers in detail, including James B Hendryx. And many other authors. Amply illustrated with marvelous magazine and book covers. The GREATEST AUTHORS OF NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE FICTION

For more of James B Hendryx’s popular Northwestern fiction, see OUTLAWS OF HALFADAY CREEK SERIES by James B Hendryx – List In Order and Excerpt from DOWNEY OF THE MOUNTED, a novel by James B Hendryx.