THE START OF THE TRAIL — 13 
winter. The forest trees keep off the chilling winds, 
and all sounds are hushed in the soft mantle of 
snow, without which progress would be impossible. 
In summer there is no passing, for the surface of 
these narrow openings between the trees is broken 
by rocks, holes, and stumps. 
At noon we reached the first camp, and received 
a hearty welcome from the men who had come in 
for lunch. We joined them at the long white board- 
table, which was abundantly supplied with well- 
cooked simple food. Hot tea or coffee warmed the 
inner man. Doughnuts just out of the pot of boil- 
ing lard on the stove, with gingerbread and apple- 
sauce, ended the feast. 
We tarried yet a while in the gentle warmth of 
the place. Outside the men were grinding their 
axes in preparation for the afternoon’s work. My 
driver lent a hand and helped the cook and cookee 
wash the dishes, while he gave them the latest news 
of the village. The cook had heard about the bear 
at Gordon’s, and thought the woman stood a fine 
chance to make a good deal of money when, later, 
she sold it to some circus company. “But I'll tell 
you what,” he volunteered, “I’d never let my 
woman do a thing like that. She would n’t want 
to, anyhow. Say,” he questioned, “‘ain’t it a queer 
thing, any way you figure it?” 
“T don’t know as it is,” Fred replied. ‘“She’s an 
