Our lad was too manly a fellow to allow an incident of this kind to affect him for long, and he was soon enjoying the trip as keenly as ever.
The second day was passed amid the rugged scenery of Thunder Bay and the northern shores of Lake Superior, greatest of fresh-water seas. It was followed by their arrival in the early morning of the third day at Winnipeg, the old Fort Garry of fur-trading times. This fort had played so conspicuous a part in the stories of Phil’s boyhood that he gazed about him on all sides with an eager interest, and was disappointed to find the Hudson Bay Company’s post of romance grown into a fair and wide-spread city.
Here, with the crossing of the Red River, the forest country ended, and the treeless plains of Manitoba, once the range of countless buffalo, but now one of the greatest wheat regions of the world, began. As the train rushed across the vast breezy levels at an accelerated speed the far-reaching view with its myriad objects of interest was exhilarating in the extreme, and Phil gazed upon it for the greater part of two days without a trace of weariness. Here were old buffalo trails and wallows; there a fleeing band of antelope or a skulking coyote. Now a party of mounted Blackfeet in all the bravery of savage decoration would dash up to some little station at which the train was stopping. A few minutes later it would whirl past a cluster of their tepees looking exactly like the pictures of Indian camps he had pored over so often in his books. He saw cowboys, too, and great herds of cattle. He saw a vast wheat ranch, containing one hundred square miles of land, divided into fields of such size that in them the ploughing of a single furrow was a day’s work for a man and team.
At length, during the morning of the fourth day, soon after leaving the brisk little city of Calgary, Phil caught a glimpse, far ahead, of something that caused him to rub his eyes and look again. It was high up and of dazzling whiteness. It could not be a cloud. No, it must be snow. Yes, it actually was a snow-capped peak of the Rocky Mountains. As the discovery burst upon him in all its magnitude Phil uttered a shout of delighted wonder that attracted the attention of every one in the car, and all the passengers crowded to the windows to look.
From this on all was excitement, which, as the wondrous panorama of glistening peaks was unfolded and uplifted, until finally the train plunged into their very midst, increased with each moment. Now an open observation-car was attached to the train, and as it sped up the narrow valley of the crystal Bow, the ever-changing and ever-fascinating view was unobstructed. On they hurried, past Banff, with its sky-piercing peaks, its boiling springs, and its stately hotel; and past Laggan, the point of departure on horseback for the marvellously beautiful lakes of the clouds. Ten miles further on the Great Divide was crossed, and with a thrill our young traveller realized that the rivulet flowing beside the track was the head-waters of the Kicking Horse, a tributary of the mighty Columbia, and the first Pacific waters he had ever seen.
From here, for a hundred miles down the western slope of the Rockies, and over the majestic Selkirk Range, the scenery was so indescribably grand, so filled with lofty mountain peaks, fathomless gorges, gleaming glaciers, and foaming cataracts, that no words can tell of it, and even the enthusiasts of the observation-car were awed into silence. As for Phil Ryder, who had never even imagined anything so marvellous, he sat and gazed alone, and with swelling heart, at the wonders unfolded by each succeeding moment. The majesty of that day’s scenery was so overpowering that he was actually glad when night came and hid it from his wearied eyes.
On the following day, which was to be his last on the train, the strange grandeur of the mighty Fraser Cañon was almost as bewildering as that of the mountains already left behind, and the lad drew a long sigh of relief when the train finally emerged from it, and entered the comparatively level country that stretched away to the western ocean.
At one pretty little station where the train stopped for dinner, Phil, having exhausted his change, was obliged to take the one-hundred-dollar bill from his securely hidden pocket-book. Simon Goldollar watched him, and when, in the haste of departure, the lad thrust both his wallet and the wad of bills he had just received in change into one of the pockets of his overcoat, instead of putting it into the place where his treasure had been kept, the former noted this action also. A minute later the overcoat was carelessly flung into a seat of the sleeper, while its young owner joined a group of passengers who had called to him from one end of the car.
At the last stop before reaching Vancouver, Simon Goldollar approached Phil, who was walking beyond the end of the platform. “Let’s make up and be friends,” he said, extending his hand. “I don’t bear no hard feelings, and to prove it I’ll put you onto a big scheme by which you can double your money in no time. Buy opium in Victoria, run it into Alaska, and—”
“Mr. Simon Goldollar,” interrupted Phil, regarding the other with blazing eyes, “[I once said that if you ever spoke to me again I would knock you down], and I never go back on my word.”