She also had some idea of what one would have to face floundering over the snow-barred passes into the great desolation in winter time.
"Well," she asked quietly, "what did you do then ?" "We worked in a logging camp until spring, and then I went down to Vancouver to raise money for the next campaign.

Nobody seemed inclined to let me have any, for which one couldn't very well blame them.

After all," and Weston laughed softly, "the thing looks uncommonly crazy.
Later on, we got a pass to do some track-grading back east, on one of the prairie lines, and when we'd saved a few dollars I started to try my luck in Montreal." Ida said nothing for a few moments.

She could fill in most of what he left untold, and it seemed to her that one who knew how men lived in the lonely logging camps through the iron winter, or drove the new track across the prairie through the thaw slush in spring, could make an epic of such a theme.

It was toil that taxed man's utmost strength of body and mind, under the Arctic frost, and, what was even worse to bear, in half-thawed mire.