CHAPTER III 



" The trails of the world be countless and most of the trails 



be tried, 

 You tread on the heels of many, till you come where the 



ways divide; 

 And one lies safe in the sunlight and the other is dreary 



and wan, 

 Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail 



lures you on.'* 



On the morning of August 4th we began our 

 journey over the mountains through the famous 

 White Pass, which is a thrilling experience even as 

 you travel in a modern railway observation car; for 

 the train starts at sea level and, following the tem- 

 pestuous Skagway River, it clings to the blasted 

 ledge along the mountains, climbing ever higher to- 

 ward the clouds. Far below in the purple gulf be- 

 tween the mountains lies the old White Pass trail, 

 where during the stampede of 1897 men dragged 

 their bleeding feet up the icy and rocky stairway, 

 carrying their provisions and outfit on their own 

 weary backs, in order to reach the top of the moun- 

 tain barrier, while a few of the more fortunate em- 

 ployed pack horses and dogs to carry their equip- 

 ment. 



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