rail must pay the toll. Sullen and
bloated the river disgorged its prey, and the dead, without prayer or
pause, were thrown into nameless graves.

On our first day at the rapids we met the Halfbreed. He was on the point
of starting downstream. Where was the Bank clerk? Oh, yes; they had
upset coming through; when last he had seen little Pinklove he was
struggling in the water. However, they expected to get the body every
hour. He had paid two men to find and bury it. He had no time to wait.

We did not blame him. In those wild days of headstrong hurry and
gold-delirium human life meant little. "Another floater," one would say,
and carelessly turn away. A callousness to death that was almost
mediaeval was in the air, and the friends of the dead hurried on, the
richer by a partner's outfit. It was all new, strange, sinister to me,
this unveiling of life's naked selfishness and lust.

Next morning they found the body, a poor, shapeless, sodden thing with
such a crumpled skull. My thoughts went back to the sweet-faced girl who
had wept so bitterly at his going. Even then, maybe, she was thinking
of him, fondly dreaming of his return, seeing the glow of triumph in his
boyish eyes. She would wait and hope; then she would wait and despair;
then there would be another white-faced woman saying, "He went to the
Klondike, and never came back. We don't know what became of him."

Verily, the way of the gold-trail was cruel.

Berna was with me when they buried him.

"Poor boy, poor boy!" she repeated.

"Yes, poor little beggar! He was so quiet and gentle. He was no man for
the trail. It's a funny world."

The coffin was a box of unplaned boards loosely nailed together, and the
men were for putting him into a grave on top of another coffin. I
protested, so sullenly they proceeded to dig a new grave. Berna looked
very unhappy, and when she saw that crude, shapeless pine coffin she
broke down and cried bitterly.

At last she dried her tears and with a happier look in her eyes bade me
wait a little until she returned. Soon again she came back, carrying
some folds of black sateen over her arm. As she ripped at this with a
pair of scissors, I noticed there was a deep frilling to it. Also a
bright blush came into her cheek at the curious glance I gave to the
somewhat skimpy lines of her skirt. But the next instant she was busy
stretching and tacking the black material over the coffin.

The men had completed the new grave. It was