It was a weary journey, and
Fortune would have wondered why the man went with him, had not Uri told
him that he owned claims and had men working at Eagle. Eagle lay on the
edge of the line; a few miles farther on, the British flag waved over the
barracks at Fort Cudahy. Then came Dawson, Pelly, the Five Fingers,
Windy Arm, Caribou Crossing, Linderman, the Chilcoot and Dyea.
On the morning after passing Eagle, they rose early. This was their last
camp, and they were now to part. Fortune's heart was light. There was a
promise of spring in the land, and the days were growing longer. The way
was passing into Canadian territory. Liberty was at hand, the sun was
returning, and each day saw him nearer to the Great Outside. The world
was big, and he could once again paint his future in royal red. He
whistled about the breakfast and hummed snatches of light song while Uri
put the dogs in harness and packed up. But when all was ready, Fortune's
feet itching to be off, Uri pulled an unused back-log to the fire and sat
down.
"Ever hear of the Dead Horse Trail?"
He glanced up meditatively and Fortune shook his head, inwardly chafing
at the delay.
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