ILLUSTRATIONS
| "Take Me Back—inside," Alice Said. "I Feel Cold Here" | [Frontispiece] |
| "You're Pretty Swift, Aren't You?" She Said, Cuttingly | [Facing p. 38] |
| The Woman Carried Herself so Ungracefully and Dressed so Plainly that Even the Saloon-door Loafers Cast Contemptuous Glances upon Her | [Facing p. 254] |
| The Author and a Forest Ranger | [Facing p. 278] |
THE AUTHOR'S FOREWORD
Many changes have swept over the mountain West since twenty years ago, but romance still clings to the high country. The Grub-Staker, hammer in hand, still pecking at the float, wanders the hills with hopeful patience, walking the perilous ledges of the cliffs in endless search of gold.
The Cow-Boss, reckless rear-guard of his kind, still urges his watch-eyed bronco across the roaring streams, or holds his milling herd in the high parks, but the Remittance Man, wayward son from across the seas, is gone. Roused to manhood by his country's call, he has joined the ranks of those who fight to save the shores of his ancestral isle.
The Prospector still pushes his small pack-mule through the snow of glacial passes, seeking the unexplored, and therefore more alluring, mountain ranges.
The Lonesome Man still seeks forgetfulness of crime in the solitude, building his cabin in the shadow of great peaks.