f the Seven Seas. His story, if ever written, would be a
human document of moving and poignant interest. He must once have been a
magnificent fellow, and even now, with strength and will-power impaired,
he was a man among men, full of quick courage and of a haughty temper.
It was ever a word and a blow with him, and a fight to the desperate
finish. He was insular, imperious and aggressive, and he was always
looking for trouble.

Though taciturn and morose with men, the Jam-wagon showed a tireless
affection for animals. From the first he took charge of our ox; but it
was for horses his fondness was most expressed, so that on the trail,
where there was so much cruelty, he was constantly on the verge of
combat.

"That's a great man," said the Prodigal to me, "a fighter from heel to
head. There's one he can't fight, though, and that's old man Booze."

But on the trail every man was a fighter. It was fight or fall, for the
trail would brook no weaklings. Good or bad, a man must be a man in the
primal sense, dominant, savage and enduring. The trail was implacable.
From the start it cried for strong men; it weeded out its weaklings. I
had seen these fellows on the ship feed their vanity with foolish
fancies; kindled to ardours of hope, I had seen debauch regnant among
them; now I was to see them crushed, cowed, overwhelmed, realising each,
according to his kind, the menace and antagonism of the way. I was to
see the weak falter and fall by the trail side; I was to see the
fainthearted quail and turn back; but I was to see the strong, the
brave, grow grim, grow elemental in their desperate strength, and
tightening up their belts, go forward unflinchingly to the bitter end.
Thus it was the trail chose her own. Thus it was, from passion, despair
and defeat, the spirit of the trail was born.

The spirit of the Gold Trail, how shall I describe it? It was based on
that primal instinct of self-preservation that underlies our thin veneer
of humanity. It was rebellion, anarchy; it was ruthless, aggressive,
primitive; it was the man of the stone age in modern garb waging his
fierce, incessant warfare with the forces of nature. Spurred on by the
fever of the gold-lust, goaded by the fear of losing in the race;
maddened by the difficulties and obstacles of the way, men became
demons of cruelty and aggression, ruthlessly thrusting aside and
trampling down the weaker ones who thwarted their progress. Of pity,
humanity, love, there was n