was a sorrowful thing to do, but there was no better way. As I rode
on, looking back occasionally to see that my train was following, my
heart ached to think of the toil the poor old horse had
undergone--only to meet death in the bush at the hands of his master.

Relieved of our wounded horse we made good time and repassed before
nine o'clock several outfits that had overhauled us during our
trouble. We rose higher and higher, and came at last into a grassy
country and to a series of small lakes, which were undoubtedly the
source of the second fork of the Stikeen. But as we had lost so much
time during the day, we pushed on with all our vigor for a couple of
hours and camped about nine o'clock of a beautiful evening, with a
magnificent sky arching us as if with a prophecy of better times
ahead.

The horses were now travelling very light, and our food supply was
reduced to a few pounds of flour and bread--we had no game and
no berries. Beans were all gone and our bacon reduced to the last
shred. We had come to expect rain every day of our lives, and were
feeling a little the effects of our scanty diet of bread and
bacon--hill-climbing was coming to be laborious. However, the way led
downward most of the time, and we were able to rack along at a very
good pace even on an empty stomach.

During the latter part of the second day the trail led along a high
ridge, a sort of hog-back overlooking a small river valley on our
left, and bringing into view an immense blue canyon far ahead of us.
"There lies the Stikeen," I called to Burton. "We're on the second
south fork, which we follow to the Stikeen, thence to the left to
Telegraph Creek." I began to compose doggerel verses to express our
exultation.

We were very tired and glad when we reached a camping-place. We could
not stop on this high ridge for lack of water, although the feed was
very good. We were forced to plod on and on until we at last
descended into the valley of a little stream which crossed our path.
The ground had been much trampled, but as rain was falling and
darkness coming on, there was nothing to do but camp.

Out of our last bit of bacon grease and bread and tea we made our
supper. While we were camping, "The Wild Dutchman," a stalwart young
fellow we had seen once or twice on the trail, came by with a very
sour visage. He went into camp near, and came over to see us. He
said: "I hain't had no pread for more dan a veek. I've nuttin' put
peans. If yo