NORTHERN GAME TRAILS 287 



For three days we followed the old Klondike trail, 

 where so many succumbed to the hardships dur- 

 ing the gold rush, and, so story says, many are 

 the bones that lay bleaching on the mountainside. 



The fourth day we turned off and struck 

 through a heavily timbered country. Mac went 

 ahead and stolidly cut trail, hour after hour, so as 

 to make it possible for the train to go through. 

 We were going into a country, Mac said, that had 

 never been hunted either by Indian or white man, 

 excepting on one occasion, when he was there 

 seven years ago, and as he put it, "Game he neb- 

 ber see man before, he no fraid, we go close." 

 Then he had a pleasing way of displaying two 

 splendid rows of perfect teeth. "Plenty game, 

 plenty game," he would say smilingly. "Pretty 

 soon you feel happy." This was a good deal for 

 Mac to say, for he seldom talked excepting at 

 night around the campfire. 



It was late that night when we made camp, 

 high up at the edge of timber line. 



At the first vague signs of dawn Pat had al- 

 ways come to my tent and called me for break- 

 fast, but this morning it was different. It was 

 time to be up, the little drab light creeping in 

 my tent said so. But what was it that made it 

 seem so strange, and the stillness so intense? 



