; and we can't cross the upper end for the
ice; and it's too cold to risk swimming."

Matthews had headed the horses and pack mule back from an open glade
and hobbled their fore feet. Then Wayland began chopping down small
trees. They saw the figures of the outlaws against the twilight of the
gap ride away from the far margin of the lake. Then only did the
Ranger build a little fire behind the biggest hemlocks, an Indian's
tiny chip fire, not "the big white-man's blaze." On this, they cooked
their supper, lake trout hauled out while they waited, and flap jacks,
with a tin plate for a frying pan.

"Anyway," said the Ranger wiping the smoke tears from his eyes, "the
smoke keeps off the mosquitoes."

"Mosquitoes, pah! That shows y're Yale for all y'r good work this day!
A have no seen one yet."

Wayland's answer was to light his pipe. "It's either bear's grease, or
smoke between bites," he laughed.

They had unsaddled horses and were sitting on a log watching the
animals crop through the deep grasses.

The frontiersman uttered a sigh. "'Tis like a taste of the good old
days, the days well nigh gone for ever; the smell of the bark fire; an'
th' tang of the kinnikinick; an' the cinnamon cedars; and the air like
champagne; an' the stars prickin' the crown o' the hoary old peaks like
diamonds; an' the little waves lappin' an' lavin' an' whisperin' an'
tellin' of the woman y' luve. An' care? Care, man? There wasna' a
care heavier than dandelion down. 'Twas sleep like a deep drink, an'
up an' away in the mornin', chasin' a young man's hopes to the end o'
the Trail! A suppose th' Almighty meant t' anchor men, or He wouldna'
permit the buildin' of toons! Once A was in New York! A did na' see
but one patch o' sunlight twenty stories overhead! Th' car things
screeched an' rulled an' the folks--the wimmen wi' awfu' stern wheeler
hats, an' the men--hurryin'--hurryin'!--Wayland, d' they get it?
There's only twenty-four hours in a day--they can't catch any more by
hurryin'--what are they hurryin' for? Do they get it--what they're
hurryin' for? Do they get anywhere? D' they sit down joyous at night?
A heard some laugh--It was not joyous! Do they get anything down there
in the awfu' heat?"

Wayland laughed. "I don't know," he said. "Care isn't light as
dandelion fluff! I'll bet on that."

The roar of waters below the moraine softened and quieted. There was a
chorus of little waves lipping and whisperin