THE TRAIL OF JIM GESEEK 

 BEYOND THE BRULE 



THE sun rose brilliantly over the land of mystery 

 beyond the Brule. It seemed a little different 

 somehow from the land just across that narrow, rock- 

 choked stream. One felt freer, farther from the world 

 and nearer to the wild creatures of the woods. The 

 knowledge that moose were feeding only a little way 

 up that stream, and the howl of a wolf in broad daylight 

 from a not too distant hill, made the blood of our forest 

 dwelling ancestors pulse exultingly. Perhaps a man 

 has never tried the game before, perhaps he even lacked 

 the confidence to make a start, but if the red blood is 

 there a thousand dollars would not turn him now. 



The higher hills are behind us now, the sawtooth 

 ridges by that much nearer and the flush of expectancy 

 makes the pack straps cut less cruelly into the bruises 

 of the day before. On leads the trail through burn and 

 brush and scattering woods ; across the north Brule 

 and into the land of rocks beyond. It is glorious to be 

 free in that open trail and we would not swap places 

 with a bank president on the city streets, but in spite 

 of it all a certain vague disappointment steals over us. 

 Is this the land of enchanted lakes and far-famed 

 beauty ? AVild it is and fascinating. But is it what we 

 were hoping to see? Not a single lake! A spring, a 

 stream, a beaver pond or two but not a single lake such 

 as we had been led to expect. The mile posts, half 

 hidden in the brush begin to drag past with a certain 

 deadly monotony. 



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