Though there were greater men above Cassidy who would get the credit, it was due chiefly to his grim persistency that the branch road had been blasted out of the mountainside, made secure from sliding snow, and flung on dizzy trestles over thundering rivers, until at last it reached the swamp which, in his own simple words, had no bottom.
There are other places like it in the Mountain Province of British Columbia.

Giant ranges, whose peaks glimmer with the cold gleam of never-melting snow, shut in the valley.

Great pine forests clothe their lower slopes, and a green-stained river leaps roaring out of the midst of them.

The new track wound through their shadow, a double riband of steel, until it broke off abruptly where a creek that poured out of the hills had spread itself among the trees.

The latter dwindled and rotted, and black depths of mire lay among their crawling roots, forming what is known in that country as a muskeg.