those which we all saw—Leemore, Buttler, you, and I—in the mud of the ‘moose-lick.’ Six times, on the snow, we were able to measure the impression of its enormous body, the same size as we found it before, almost to the twentieth of an inch. We followed them to Stewart, fully two miles, when the snow began to fall slightly and blotted out the traces.”
It was on receipt of this letter that I decided to write the story of my own experience, which it recalled so vividly to mind, and of which it afforded a striking confirmation.
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THE SPOT WHERE THE AUTHOR MET HIS FRIEND BUTTLER.
The Story of My Friend Buttler.
The station of McQuesten, that far-off corner of the strange country of the Yukon, where the eight months of winter are so terrible but the short summer so marvellously beautiful, was on four occasions my chosen retreat during the eight years that I have known the North. A friend of mine in San Francisco, Mr. Buttler, who had come to Dawson City in order to purchase gold-mining concessions, had promised to join me in order that we should go hunting together. I was taking my coffee one afternoon in the veranda of Father Lavagneux’s cabin when all at once I heard someone whistle from the farther bank of the river. A bark canoe, paddled by two Indians, was coming up the river in the shadow of the trees. Buttler was with them.
“My dear fellow,” he said, smiling as I met him, and endeavouring to hide his visible agitation, “I have something very strange to tell you. Do you know that prehistoric monsters still exist?”
I broke out laughing, and together we returned by the little path which led to the Father’s house. When Buttler had taken off his muddy boots and was ensconced in a comfortable seat he began to recount his story as follows:—
“Leaving Gravel Lake, where I arrived on Tuesday evening, my last stage was the mouth of Clear Creek, where I knew that you would send someone to meet me. Travelling was frightfully bad—forty miles of marshy country. At last, at nightfall, I descended a hill, and had the pleasure of seeing Grant’s cabin, which was lighted up. Grant was at home, and a good supper was waiting for me. Early the next morning
