Vrain and
Laramie Trail it looked as though a horse had not passed there in
months. He spent another wretched night, and next day awoke to the
necessities of life. Except for his rifle, and his horses, and a few
traps back up in the hills, he had nothing to show for years of hard
and successful work. But that did not matter. He had begun with as
little and he could begin again. He killed meat, satisfied his
hunger, and cooked more that he might carry with him. Then he spent
two more days in that locality, until he had crossed every outlet
from his valley. Not striking a track, he saw nothing but defeat.
That moment was bitter. "If Neale'd happen along hyar now he'd kill
me--an' sarve me right," muttered the trapper.
But he believed that Neale, too, had gone the way of so many who had
braved these wilds. Slingerland saw in the fate of Neale and Allie
the result of civilization marching westward. If before he had
disliked the idea of the railroad entering his wild domain, he hated
it now. Before that survey the Indians had been peaceful; no
dangerous men rode the trails. What right had the Government to
steal land from the Indians, to break treaties, to run a steam track
across the plains and mountains? Slingerland foresaw the bloodiest
period ever known in the West, before that work should be completed.
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