Cheyenne record., 1918-05-02
IAN MACLEOD RAINE

quite different. They centered about
Q du1ky-eyed young woman whom he
had seen for the flrst time q fortnight
before He would have denied sven to
himself that he was in love. but when
ever he was alone his thoughts re-
verted to Sheba OsNeill. 49,
At the big bend Gordon left the river
boat for his cross-country trek. Near
the roadhouse was an Indian village
where he had expected to get guide
for the journey to Kamatlah. But the
fishing season had begun, and the men
had all gone down river to take part
in 1t.
The old Frenchman who kept the
trading-post and roadhouae advised
Gordon not to attempt the tramp alone.
"The trail It ees what you cali dam
gerous. FeefH-Mile Swamp ees q mon
ster that swallows men alive, mon
neur. You wait one week-two week
-free week, and some one will turn
up to take you through" he urged.
But can't wait. And I have an of.
dcial map Of the trail. Why can't I
follow It without q guider Elliott
wanted to know impatently.
The post-tradef shrugged. 'Haybeso,
monsieur-maybe not. Feefty-Nile-it
ees one devil Of a trail. No checha-
koes are safe in there without q guide.
I Baptiste, know"
"Selfridge and his party went
through week ago. I can follow the
tracks they left"
"But II It rains, monsieur, the tracks
win vaneesh, nest CO past Lose the
way. and the little singing folk will
swarm In clouds about monsieur while
he stumbles through the swamp"
Elliot hesitated for the better part
Of y day, then came to an impulsive
decision. He had q reliable map. and
anyhow he had only to follow the
tracks left by the Selfridge party. He
turned his back upon the big river and
plunged into the wilderness.
There came 9 night when he looked
up Into the stars d TIE deep, still sly
and knew that he was hundreds Of
miles from any other human being.
Never In all his life had he been 20
much alone. He was not afraid. but
there was something awssoms In .
world 20 empty Of his kind.
The tracks Of the Selfridge party
grew fainter after q night Of rain. More
rain fell, and they were obliterated H.
together.
Gordon lished. He killed fresh game
for his needs. Often he came on the
tracks Of moose and caribou. Some
times, startled, they leaped into view
quite close enough for shot. but he
used his rife only to meet his wants.
The way led through valley and
morass, across hills and mountains. It
wandered in sort Of haphasard fash
ion through q sun-bathed universe
washed clean Of sordidness and mean
ness.
It was the seventh night out that
Elliot suspected he was of the trail.
Rain sluiced down in torrents and next
day continued to pour from dun sky.
His own tracks were blotted out and
he searched for the trail in vain. Be-
fore he knew 1t he was entangied In
Fifty Mile. His map showed him the
morass stretched for fifty miles to the
south, but he knew that 1t had been
charted hurriedly by surveying party
which had made no extensive explora-
lions. A good deal Of this country was
terra incogpita. It ran vaguely into a
No Mama Land unknown to the pros
pector.
The going was heavy. Gordon had
to pick his way through the mossy
swamp, leading the pack-horse by the
bride. Sometimes he was ankle deep
In water Of a greenish slime. Again
he had to drag the animal from the
bog to hummock Of grass which gave
a spongy footing. This would end In
another quagmire Of peat through
which they must plow with the mud
sucking at their feet. It was hard.
wearing. toll. There was nothing to do
but keep moving. The young man
staggered forward till dusk. Utterly
exhausted, be camped for the night on
q hillock Of mosS that rose ike an
island in the swamp.
Elliot travelled next day BY the conn
pass. He had food for three days
more. but he knew that no living man
had the strength to travel for 30 long
in such a morass. It was near mid
day when he lost his horse. The ami
NAL had begged down several times
and Gordon had wasted much time and
spent a good deal Of needed energy in
dragging It to firmer footing. This time
the pony refused to answer the whip.
Its master unloaded pack and saddle.
He tried coaxing; he tried the whip.
aCome. Old-1imer. One plunge. and
youTl make II yet," he urged
The pack-horse turned upon him
dumb syes Of reproach, struggled to
Tree its limbs from the mud. and sank
down helplessly. Il had travelled its
last yard on the long ALASKA trails.
After the sound of the shot had dled
away, Gordon struggled with the pack
to the nearest hummock. He cut hsaes
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