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    In the Time That Was
    In the Time That Was
    In the Time That Was
    Ebook64 pages37 minutes

    In the Time That Was

    By James Frederic Thorne

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    In the Time That Was

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      Book preview

      In the Time That Was - James Frederic Thorne

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Time That Was, by James Frederic Thorne

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: In the Time That Was

      Author: James Frederic Thorne

      Illustrator: Judson T. Sergeant

      Release Date: May 16, 2008 [EBook #25483]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE TIME THAT WAS ***

      Produced by Suzan Flanagan and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

      produced from images generously made available by The

      Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

      In the Time That Was

      And There Was Light.

      achook

      of the Chilkats told me these tales of The Time That Was. But before the telling, he of the Northland and I of the Southland had travelled many a mile with dog-team, snowshoes, and canoe.

      If the stories suffer in the telling, as suffer they must afar from that wondrous Alaskan background of mountain and forest, glacier and river, wrenched from the setting of campfires and trail, and divorced from the soft gutturals and halting throat notes in which they have been handed down from generation to generation of Chilkat and Chilkoot, blame not Zachook, who told them to me, and forbear to blame me who tell them to you as best I may in this stiff English tongue. They were many months in the telling and many weary miles have I had to carry them in my memory pack.

      I had lost count of the hours, lost count of the days that at best are marked by little change between darkness and dawn in the Northland winter, until I knew not how long I had lain there in my blanket of snow, waiting for the lingering feet of that dawdler, Death, to put an end to my sufferings.

      Some hours, or days, or years before I had been pushing along the trail to the coast, thinking little where I placed my feet and much of the eating that lay at Dalton Post House; and of other things thousands of miles from this bleak waste, where men exist in the hope of ultimate living, with kaleidoscope death by their side; other things that had to do with women's faces, bills of fare from which bacon and beans were rigidly excluded, and comforts of the flesh that some day I again might enjoy.

      Then, as if to mock me, teach me the folly of allowing even my thoughts to wander from her cold

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