A two-story log house, a one-room 
log office, a log barn, and, across the 
creek, the log shack we occupied, fifty 
miles from the railroad, and no end of 
miles from anything else, but wilderness 
—that was Yeddar’s. 
Old Yeddar — Uncle John, the 
guides and trappers and_ teamsters 
called him—had solved the problem 
of ideal existence. He ran this rough 
road house without any personal ex- 
penditure of labour or money. He sold 
whisky in his office to the passing 
teamsters and guides, and relied upon 
f the same to do the chores around the 
place, for which he gave them grub, 
the money for which came from the 
occasional summer tourist, such as we. 
Mrs. Spiker ‘did’ for him in the 
summer for her board and that of her 
little girl, and in the winter he and a 
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