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Photo by ( ). M. i, eland 

 WORKING ON THE COAST BOUNDARY: PREPARING TO CROSS THE DE BLONDEAU GLACIER 



veyor, or whether his adventures in Hfe 

 should be hmited to the selHng of pink 

 and blue ribbons. 



Not uneventfully has the boundary be- 

 tween Alaska and Canada been run. 

 Fire, shipwreck, accident, disease, and 

 death have trailed the footsteps of the 

 surveyor. 



During my first season on the 141st 

 meridian, while in camp on the Yukon 

 River, I was suddenly called from my 

 instrument by the cook shouting that a 

 body was floating in the river. Sure 

 enough, bobbing serenely along with the 

 current was an unmistakable black ob- 

 ject. Hurrying into a canoe, we tied a 

 rope to the body and towed it to shore. 

 It proved to be the body of an ex-dog- 

 driver of the Northwest mounted police, 

 who had been drowned at Dawson some 

 four weeks previous. For the sake of 

 the astronomic work, the wire had been 

 tapped at the boundary and we were in 

 communication with Dawson, the nearest 

 Canadian town, and with Eagle, which 

 is on the Alaskan side. With character- 

 istic promptness an officer of the police 

 appeared on the scene. 



Captain Tucker, of the police, insti- 

 tuted a coroner's court on a stump and 

 took evidence. 



"Where was the body landed?" 



"Just below the boundary." 



"Sorry I can do nothing in the matter, 

 as the body was found on the Alasisn 

 side." 



Captain Tucker packed up his papers 

 and went home. 



I went to Eagle and interviewed the 

 United States commissioner. Yes, he 

 was very sorry, but in the Alaskan code 

 there is no provision for burying the 

 dead. In effect both governments said : 

 "He's all yours ; we don't want him." 

 We knocked together a rude coffin, made 

 from packing boxes, wrapped the poor, 

 discolored body in canvas, and lowered 

 it into a shallow grave back of the old 

 Boundary Creek road-house. There was 

 less profanity than usual at supper that 

 night. 



Pope and I traveled down the Big 

 Black River on a raft last year to a tri- 

 angulation station. While walking back 

 a sudden storm overtook us near one of 

 the little trap cabins frequently found in 

 the most unexpected places. We broke 

 in and waited until the fury of the storm- 

 was past. On the cabin door were writ- 

 ten the names of two men, with the in- 

 formation that they had left in June and 

 would be back in September. 



This year a broken raft on a log-jam„ 

 a torn tent, and a rusted rifle were found 

 far below the little lonely cabin, but the 

 men themselves have never been seen. 



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