- Anticipation [1]
- Where the Desert flames with Furnace Heat [2]
- The Cow-boy [9]
- From Plain to Peak [19]
- Momentous Hour [31]
- A Wish [32]
- The Gift of Water [35]
- Mounting [35]
- The Eagle Trail [36]
- Moon on the Plain [43]
- The Whooping Crane [51]
- The Loon [51]
- Yet still we rode [61]
- The Gaunt Gray Wolf [79]
- Abandoned on the Trail [80]
- Do you fear the Wind? [95]
- Siwash Graves [105]
- Line up, Brave Boys [106]
- A Child of the Sun [117]
- In the Grass [118]
- The Faithful Broncos [129]
- The Whistling Marmot [130]
- The Clouds [137]
- The Great Stikeen Divide [138]
- The Ute Lover [147]
- Devil's Club [150]
- In the Cold Green Mountains [150]
- The Long Trail [159]
- The Greeting of the Roses [161]
- The Vulture [172]
- Campfires [173]
- The Footstep in the Desert [182]
- So this is the End of the Trail to him [190]
- The Toil of the Trail [193]
- The Goldseekers [205]
- The Coast Range of Alaska [215]
- The Freeman of the Hills [229]
- The Voice of the Maple Tree [230]
- A Girl on the Trail [239]
- O the Fierce Delight [249]
- The Lure of the Desert [258]
- This out of All will remain [262]
- Here the Trail ends [263]
ANTICIPATION
I will wash my brain in the splendid breeze,
I will lay my cheek to the northern sun,
I will drink the breath of the mossy trees,
And the clouds shall meet me one by one.
I will fling the scholar's pen aside,
And grasp once more the bronco's rein,
And I will ride and ride and ride,
Till the rain is snow, and the seed is grain.
The way is long and cold and lone—
But I go.
It leads where pines forever moan
Their weight of snow,
Yet I go.
There are voices in the wind that call,
There are hands that beckon to the plain;
I must journey where the trees grow tall,
And the lonely heron clamors in the rain.
Where the desert flames with furnace heat,
I have trod.
Where the horned toad's tiny feet
In a land
Of burning sand
Leave a mark,
I have ridden in the noon and in the dark.
Now I go to see the snows,
Where the mossy mountains rise
Wild and bleak—and the rose
And pink of morning fill the skies
With a color that is singing,
And the lights
Of polar nights
Utter cries
As they sweep from star to star,
Swinging, ringing,
Where the sunless middays are.