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We were in a caldron of fire. The roar of doom was in our ears (page 143)

THE TRAIL OF ’98 A Northland Romance BY ROBERT W. SERVICE Author of "The Spell of the Yukon" and "Ballads of a Cheechako" With illustrations by MAYNARD DIXON NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1911

[Pg v]PRELUDE

The north wind is keening overhead. It minds me of the howl of awolf-dog under the Arctic stars. Sitting alone by the glow of the greatpeat fire I can hear it high up in the braeside firs. It is the voice,inexorably scornful, of the Great White Land.

Oh, I hate it, I hate it! Why cannot a man be allowed to forget? It isnear ten years since I joined the Eager Army. I have travelled: I havebeen a pilgrim to the shrines of beauty; I have pursued the phantom ofhappiness even to the ends of the earth. Still it is always the same—Icannot forget.

Why should a man be ever shadowed by the vampire wing of his past? HaveI not a right to be happy? Money, estate, name, are mine, all that meansan open sesame to the magic door. Others go in, but I beat against itsflinty portals with hands that bleed. No! I have no right to be happy.The ways of the world are open; the banquet of life is spread; thewonder-workers plan their pageants of beauty and joy, and yet there isno praise in my heart. I have seen, I have tasted, I have tried. Ashesand dust and bitterness are all my gain. I will try no more. It is theshadow of the vampire wing.

So I sit in the glow of the great peat fire, tired and sad beyondbelief. Thank God! at least I am home. Everything is so little changed.The fire lights the ...