forts, consigned
100 Mile House. Each driver to present load, rig and team, with
personal services, and to forward consignee's receipt.

"Hire third sleigh with team one month, furnish furs on approval,
equipment, comforts suitable to bush travel and residence of a
lady. Place in charge of young competent civil engineer, bringing
instruments and assistant to report to Madame Scotson, arriving
Ashcroft Pacific Limited 20 inst.

"Absolute secrecy required. Charge Scotson."

So far the impulse had moved me to be quick before I repented, and the
journey gave time for that. Leaving the sweet majesty and serene order
of the English landscape, I made the usual passage by _S.S. Charon_
across the Styx to New York, where I caught a stuffy train for the
transit of an untidy continent. And so, in the starry middle of a night,
I was met at Ashcroft.

The civil engineer sent by the Hudson's Bay Company was Mr. Sacrifice T.
Eure. He stood uncovered, and while his ears froze, spelled his name to
me, explaining that there were two syllables in "Eure" with accent on
the first. He seemed to convey an offer of protection, to claim my
friendship, to take charge of my affairs, and with perfect modesty to
let me know that he was competent. Mud-colored hair hung dank over a
fine bloodless face with eyes like steel, jaws like iron, accounting,
perhaps, for the magnetic charm of his smile. His English was that
spoken by gentlefolk, which has the clearness of water, the sparkle of
champagne. His accent? How puzzling that is in a stranger's voice!
Except when we play Shakespearean drama, we all speak with an accent,
American say, or British. This gentleman lacked the primitive manliness
which stamps the men of the Dominions. Afterward Mr. Eure confessed
himself a native of New England.

He presented his assistant, led me to the sleigh, showed Billy where to
stow the luggage, tucked me into some warm furs, congratulated me on
escaping the local hotels, then bidding my man and his own to jump in,
took the reins and asked which way we were going. I served as pilot
along a trail of poignant memories. Once as we climbed the great steeps
northward, I caught the scent of the bull pines, and would have cried
but for the cold, which made it much wiser to sniff. Tears freeze.

We slept that night at Hat Creek station, where Tearful George proved a
most kindly host. He told me of a loaded sleigh which had passed