Ten minutes passed.

The fire snapped and crackled, the growl of the rapid rose and fell fitfully, but the worn-out man heard neither, for he was sleeping heavily.
There are many like him who dream great dreams scattered across the new lands by the Pacific from the snow of the Yukon to Mexico, but their visions are sacred and not expressed in speech, while a smile which is half ironical flickers in the steadfast eyes when they hear them caricatured by the platform Imperialist.

Their words are scanty, but their handiwork is plain; the gap hewn in the virgin forest, bridge flung over frothing river, and the raw rent of the giant powder amidst the lonely hills.

It is crude and unsightly often, the creosote-reeking railroad track, and the ugly humming mills, but it means food for the toilers, good wages and trade, and in place of a pleasance for the rich to seek diversion in, a new and rich dominion won, not for England, or the Republic, alone, but for humanity.
He started with the sunrise, the pack-straps galling his shoulders, his feet bleeding in the saturated boots, clammy blankets, flour-bag, and pork upon his aching back, kettle, frypan, and rifle rattling about him, and for the first hour every stride that led him farther into the wilderness was made with pain and difficulty.

Still, he made it cheerfully, for Alton had long borne the burden that was laid on Adam uncomplainingly, while his rival, sitting beyond the reach of hardship in his Vancouver office, plotted, and filched the fruits of others' toil.