CHAPTER XXIII 



THE LOST CHILD 



EVERYONE who has lived on the frontier has 

 ' probably taken part in hunting for lost chil- 

 dren. In my own experience and observation the 

 terror, the panic, the tireless zeal, the whole-hearted 

 participation by whole communities are vivid recol- 

 lections, and as a part of them the never-ceasing 

 wonder at the almost impossible distances children 

 will stray. The natural tendency of an exhausted 

 child to lie down and fall asleep, together with the 

 usual discovery about dusk that the child is missing, 

 and the natural profoundness of a child's sleep, ex- 

 plain to some extent the difficulty of locating it in 

 vast areas, with a belated start, and no trail in the 

 darkness to indicate even the direction that It has 

 taken. Shouting by hunters until they are too hoarse 

 to shout is always a part of the hunt; dogs are always 

 used, and individual stories of their work are tra- 

 ditions over the whole frontier. 



It is one thing for a child to stray in a city, where 

 its sobs attract quick attention; it is an entirely 

 different thing when one wanders off into a great 

 expanse, where there are no houses for miles. I 

 have never heard of a child in this country being 



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