"But you must have some idea where it is?" I pressed incredulously.
Governor Burnet put down his pipe and unrolled a large scroll map which lay amongst the papers on the table.
"You forget that you have left the Old World of limited spaces behind you," he replied. "This province over which I rule is greater than all Britain—how much greater not even our surveyor-general, who knows more than any other man, can say."
He spread the map before me, and I gazed with fascination at the courses of unknown rivers, chains of untraversed mountains, broad savannas the foot of the white man had seldom trod, lakes like seas and immense blank spaces without even a mark upon them to denote their character.
"This is New York, Master Ormerod. Our settlements are confined to the coast districts, the island of Nassau[[3]]—" he motioned toward the window—"and the valley of Hudson's River. We have barely begun the task of colonization. There is room here for every soul in England—and to spare."
[[3]] Long Island.
With his pipe-stem he pointed to the upper left corner.
"All this country is virgin forest. On the north and northwest 'tis bounded by the inland sea which we call Lake Cadaraqui;[[4]] to the southeast stretch the Adirondack Mountains. Somewhere between those boundaries runs the Doom Trail. There are thousands of square miles of wilderness to search for it."
[[4]] Lake Ontario.
"And the Keepers of the Trail to guard its mystery," put in Colden.