emed a royal road over which we could pass as over a
carpet--winter seemed far away.

But all this was delusion. Beneath us lay a thousand quagmires. The
forest was filled with impenetrable jungles and hidden streams,
ridges sullen and silent were to be crossed, and the snow was close
at hand. Across this valley an eagle might sweep with joy, but the
pack trains must crawl in mud and mire through long hours of torture.
We spent but a moment here, and then with grim resolution called out,
"Line up, boys, line up!" and struck down upon the last two days of
our long journey.

On the following noon we topped another rise, and came unmistakably
in sight of the Stikeen River lying deep in its rocky canyon. We had
ridden all the morning in a pelting rain, slashed by wet trees,
plunging through bogs and sliding down ravines, and when we saw the
valley just before us we raised a cheer. It seemed we could hear the
hotel bells ringing far below.

But when we had tumbled down into the big canyon near the water's
edge, we found ourselves in scarcely better condition than before. We
were trapped with no feed for our horses, and no way to cross the
river, which was roaring mad by reason of the heavy rains, a swift
and terrible flood, impossible to swim. Men were camped all along the
bank, out of food like ourselves, and ragged and worn and weary. They
had formed a little street of camps. Borland, the leader of the big
mule train, was there, calm and efficient as ever. "The Wilson
Outfit," "The Man from Chihuahua," "Throw-me-feet," and the
Manchester boys were also included in the group. "The Dutchman" came
sliding down just behind us.

After a scanty dinner of bacon grease and bread we turned our horses
out on the flat by the river, and joined the little village. Borland
said: "We've been here for a day and a half, tryin' to induce that
damn ferryman to come over, and now we're waitin' for reenforcements.
Let's try it again, numbers will bring 'em."

Thereupon we marched out solemnly upon the bank (some ten or fifteen
of us) and howled like a pack of wolves.

For two hours we clamored, alternating the Ute war-whoop with the
Swiss yodel. It was truly cacophonous, but it produced results.
Minute figures came to the brow of the hill opposite, and looked at
us like cautious cockroaches and then went away. At last two shadowy
beetles crawled down the zigzag trail to the ferry-boat, and began
bailing her out. Ultimately three men, s