h day, and some little weazened berries appeared
on the hillsides, the first we had seen, and they tasted mighty good
after months of bacon and beans. We were taking some pleasure in the
trip again, and had it not been for the sores on our horses' feet and
our scant larder we should have been quite at ease. Our course now
lay parallel to a range of peaks on our right, which we figured to be
the Hotailub Mountains. This settled the question of our position on
the map--we were on the third and not the first south fork of the
Stikeen and were a long way still from Telegraph Creek.

THE LONG TRAIL

We tunnelled miles of silent pines,
Dark forests where the stillness was so deep
The scared wind walked a tip-toe on the spines,
And the restless aspen seemed to sleep.

We threaded aisles of dripping fir;
We climbed toward mountains dim and far,
Where snow forever shines and shines,
And only winds and waters are.

Red streams came down from hillsides crissed and crossed
With fallen firs; but on a sudden, lo!
A silver lakelet bound and barred
With sunset's clouds reflected far below.

These lakes so lonely were, so still and cool,
They burned as bright as burnished steel;
The shadowed pine branch in the pool
Was no less vivid than the real.

We crossed the great divide and saw
The sun-lit valleys far below us wind;
Before us opened cloudless sky; the raw,
Gray rain swept close behind.

We saw great glaciers grind themselves to foam;
We trod the moose's lofty home,
And heard, high on the yellow hills,
The wildcat clamor of his ills.

The way grew grimmer day by day,
The weeks to months stretched on and on;
And hunger kept, not far away,
A never failing watch at dawn.

We lost all reckoning of season and of time;
Sometimes it seemed the bitter breeze
Of icy March brought fog and rain,
And next November tempests shook the trees.

It was a wild and lonely ride.
Save the hid loon's mocking cry,
Or marmot on the mountain side,
The earth was silent as the sky.

All day through sunless forest aisles,
On cold dark moss our horses trod;
It was so lonely there for miles and miles,
The land seemed lost to God.

Our horses cut by rocks; by brambles torn,
Staggered onward, stiff and sore;
Or broken,