A. Stewart MncDo;1nlziD.FC., MD. C..M.

returned two years later. When he was going by a cabin, a dog rushed out at him and a woman started yelling ”look out for cross dog" but when the dog saw him, he wagged his tail and showed he was glad to see him. I recall him telling me that on one of the trails, he came across two men frozen to death, one was half eaten by wolves. Another was starving, and was trying to make soup out of the rawhide of his snowshoes. Another time he was working on a tug on the fast flowing Yukon River in Dawson when the staging gave way, two of the workers plunged down through the ice. My father backed up through the hole in the ice, the other man drowned.

Another time a dozen men had to travel 500 miles along the river. In those days the riders travelled in horse driven sleighs on wide runners, with the passengers covered with fur robes. The twelve men decided to go the distance on bicycles. My father, who never drove a bicycle before, bought a new bike. The first day, he said, he was in the snowbank as much as on the sleigh tracks. The horses would throw chunks of ice on some of the track and when he hit one, off he went, but he was very determined and stuck to it. When he got to the first roadhouse, all the eleven had left. He kept passing the others on the road after their second hand bikes were broken and he had become agile on the bike. When he was past the 300 mile mark, he had passed them all but every roadhouse he came to, the story of the ”greenhorn" was ahead of him - he went along with the story - I think it was his way of teaching me that endurance pays off.

One time, in Vancouver, seeing John (Chief of Police) walking down the street, my father got in an alleyway, and when the chief was opposite, he rushed out and pushed him off the sidewalk. John caught him by a neck hold and started off with him to jail. After dragging

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