To Win or to Die, by George 
Manville Fenn 
 
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Title: To Win or to Die A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze 
Author: George Manville Fenn 
Illustrator: Paul Hardy 
Release Date: May 8, 2007 [EBook #21377] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ASCII 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO WIN 
OR TO DIE *** 
 
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England 
 
To Win or to Die, A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze, by George 
Manville Fenn.
_________________________________________________________
______________ 
This is a tough tale about tough men. Right from the first chapter we 
are living with men who are fighting for survival, the enemy being as 
often as not other men who would rob them. Chapter after chapter 
leaves the heroes in some new desperate plight, which, when overcome, 
is almost at once replaced by yet another one. 
It is not a very long book, and it is very well illustrated, but it is a 
breathless race from one peril to the next. 
I cannot say that you should enjoy or be entertained by reading of 
other peoples' misfortunes, but the author intended that you should be 
so entertained, and you will be. 
_________________________________________________________
_____________ 
TO WIN OR TO DIE, A TALE OF THE KLONDIKE GOLD CRAZE, 
BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. 
CHAPTER ONE. 
A BREAK-DOWN. 
"It's a lie! I don't and I won't believe it." 
The speaker half whispered that, and then he shouted, "Do you hear?" 
There was a pause, and then from the face of a huge white snow-cliff 
there came back the word "hear." 
"Well done, echo!" cried the speaker. 
"Echo," came back. 
"Thankye; that's quite cheering; anything's better than that horrible 
silence. What do they say? When a man gets in the habit of talking to
himself it's a sign that he is going mad? Once more, it's a lie! A man 
would go mad in this awful solitude if he didn't hear some one speaking. 
Snow, snow, snow, and rock and mountain; and ugh! how cold! Pull up, 
donkey! jackass! idiot! or you'll freeze to death." 
The speaker was harnessed by a looped rope to a small, well-packed 
sledge, after the fashion of one who tracks about along the Thames; but 
how different here! No sunny river, no verdant flowing mead or 
hanging summer wood, but winter, stern winter in its wildest, and the 
heavy sledge, in answer to the tugging at the rope, now sticking fast 
amongst the heaped-up stones frozen together in a mass, now suddenly 
gliding down sharp slopes and tripping its owner up, so that again and 
again, during an awful day's tramp, he had fallen heavily. But only to 
struggle up, shake the snow from his fur-lined coat, and continue his 
journey onward towards the golden land where the nuggets lay in 
wondrous profusion waiting the bold adventurer's coming--heaped-up, 
almost fabulous riches that had lain undiscovered since the beginning 
of the world. 
He, the toiler, dragging that sledge, in which were carefully packed his 
gun, ammunition, spare clothes, blankets, stores, and sleeping-bag of 
fur, had started at daylight that morning from the last outpost of 
civilisation--a miserable shanty at the top of the tremendous pass he 
had surmounted with the help of the men who occupied the shanty and 
called themselves guides; and then, after repacking his sledge and 
trusting to the landmarks ahead and a pocket compass, he had boldly 
set off, ready to dare every peril, for he was young, sanguine, 
well-armed, strong, and nerved by hope and the determination to 
succeed. 
It was only a brave struggle over the mountains, and then down into the 
river valley beyond, to leave the winter behind with its pain and misery, 
and meet the welcome of the summer sunshine and--the gold. 
That morning it was winter indeed; but the adventurer's heart was warm, 
and the way through the mountains was plain, while the exertion sent 
the blood tingling through his veins till he glowed as the rugged miles 
were mastered.
Then there was the halt and a seat on the sledge for a hasty meal upon 
the tough provisions; but how delicious every mouthful was! 
Then forward again, refreshed for the journey onward, to some snugly 
sheltered spot where he could camp for the night and sleep in his fur 
bag, regardless of any number of degrees of frost. 
But as the afternoon wore on, the sledge seemed to grow more heavy, 
the way wilder and more stern, and the stoppages frequent. 
He    
    
		
	
	
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