192 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
day gift. He wanted to go into Silver with us and 
see the town, an ambition which, I’m glad to say, 
was subsequently realised. 
That evening we sat around the camp fire for the 
last time. Mostly we sang and talked as usual, but 
now and again a sudden silence would fall upon us 
all, or a look of wistful gravity drop for a moment 
like a veil over the features of one or another of 
the men. One can not leave six months of his life 
—full, vivid months like these—without a poignant 
twinge of regret. The hardships we had undergone, 
the companions with whom we had lived and worked 
for half a year and whom we had learned to care for 
and to trust, could not lightly be put behind us. 
We would soon be scattered, most of us never to 
meet again. The age-old ache of sadness at the 
death of the familiar, at the ruthless approach of 
change, the wrench of readjustment in leaving the 
accustomed thing and making shift to face the un- 
known future gave us many a sober thought. Be- 
neath the excitement of the impending release was 
a vague desire for continued captivity. We weakly 
longed at times to keep on living as we had grown 
used to living, enveloped by the web of accustomed 
circumstances which we had at once yielded to and 
conquered, 
In one of these pauses Frazer began to talk. 
““T want to tell you fellows,’’ he said simply, ‘‘be- 
fore we part, how much I appreciate personally your 
attitude during the past season. I’ve worked on re- 
