to-morrow they would come again, and to-morrow and
to-morrow, the men of the Chilcoot.

The Trail of Travail--surely it was all epitomised in the tribulations
of that stark ascent. From my eyrie on its blizzard-beaten crest I could
see the Human Chain drag upward link by link, and every link a man. And
as he climbed that pitiless treadmill, on each man's face there could be
deciphered the palimpsest of his soul.

Oh, what a drama it was, and what a stage! The Trail of '98--high
courage, frenzied fear, despotic greed, unflinching sacrifice. But over
all--its hunger and its hope, its passion and its pain--triumphed the
dauntless spirit of the Pathfinder--the mighty Pioneer.

[Illustration: "No," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl"]

Then I knew, I knew. These silent, patient, toiling ones were the
Conquerors of the Great White Land; the Men of the High North, the
Brotherhood of the Arctic Wild. No saga will ever glorify their deeds,
no epic make them immortal. Their names will be written in the snows
that melt and vanish at the smile of Spring; but in their works will
they live, and their indomitable spirit will be as a beacon-light,
shining down the dim corridors of Eternity.

* * * * *

I slept at a bunkhouse that night, and next morning I again made a call
at the tent within which lay Berna. Again Madam, in a gaudy wrapper,
answered my call, but this time, to my surprise, she was quite pleasant.

"No," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl. She's all prostrated.
We've given her a sleeping powder and she's asleep now. But she's mighty
sick. We've sent for a doctor."

There was indeed nothing to be done. With a heavy heart I thanked her,
expressed my regrets and went away. What had got into me, I wondered,
that I was so distressed about the girl. I thought of her continually,
with tenderness and longing. I had seen so little of her, yet that
little had meant so much. I took a sad pleasure in recalling her to mind
in varying aspects; always she appeared different to me somehow. I could
get no definite idea of her; ever was there something baffling,
mysterious, half revealed.

To me there was in her, beauty, charm, every ideal quality. Yet must my
eyes have been anointed, for others passed her by without a second
glance. Oh, I was young and foolish, maybe; but I had never before known
a girl that appealed to me, and it was very, very sweet.

So I went back to the restauran