was to last the forest people of the Three River country--a domain
reaching from the Landing to the Arctic Ocean. In competition
fought the drivers of Revillon Brothers and Hudson's Bay, of free
trader and independent adventurer. Freight that grew more precious
with each mile it advanced must reach the beginning of the
waterway. It started with the early snows. The tide was at full by
midwinter. In temperature that nipped men's lungs it did not
cease. There was no let-up in the whip-hands of the masters of
trade at Edmonton, Winnipeg, Montreal, and London across the sea.
It was not a work of philanthropy. These men cared not whether
Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie were well-fed or hungry,
whether they lived or died, so far as humanity was concerned. But
Paris, Vienna, London, and the great capitals of the earth must
have their furs--and unless that freight went north, there would
be no velvety offerings for the white shoulders of the world.
Christmas windows two years hence would be bare. A feminine wail
of grief would rise to the skies. For woman must have her furs,
and in return for those furs Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and
Marie must have their freight. So the pendulum swung, as it had
swung for a century or two, touching, on the one side, luxury,
warmth, wealth, and beauty; on the other, cold and hardship, deep
snows and open skies--with that precious freight the thing
between.

And now, in this year before rail and steamboat, the glory of
early summer was at hand, and the wilderness people were coming up
to meet the freight. The Three Rivers--the Athabasca, the Slave,
and the Mackenzie, all joining in one great two-thousand-mile
waterway to the northern sea--were athrill with the wild impulse
and beat of life as the forest people lived it. The Great Father