28 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY, 



bridge. Ruts and gullies were ignored, and we 

 learned that, if taken quicldy, two ruts and a 

 gully are almost as good as a level. 



Twilight was growing upon the earth, and far 

 away over the pale sea the light off Cape Dau- 

 phin, on the Ciboux Islands, was flashing its mes- 

 sage of mingled hope and warning, when suddenly 

 we plunged into gloom, wheeled around a dizzy 

 curve, and crossed a long iron bridge. Below us 

 a river's dark waters reflected the waning glory 

 of the sky. This was the Barasois, one of the 

 salmon rivers of which we had heard fisherman's 

 tales at Baddeck. Two miles more brought us 

 to Indian Brook, and again a great curve and a 

 dash through the woods prepared us for another 

 angle and a sharp descent to a long bridge so full 

 of holes that we felt as though only angels could 

 have kept our pony's flying feet out of them. A 

 vision of cliffs, deep black pools, and distant 

 mountains with serrated spruce forests against 

 the sunset sky made us determine that Indian 

 Brook should not be passed on the gallop when 

 we returned from Ingonish, if indeed that happy 

 day ever came. 



Darkness having taken full possession of the 

 earth, our charioteer urged his horse to even 

 wilder efforts, and we shot through dim dangers 

 with teeth set and eyes vainly scanning the gloom 

 to sec what next impended. It was in this fash- 



