CHAPTER XII
IN VANCOUVER
Autumn was merging into winter when one morning Alton and his comrade strolled along the water-front at Vancouver. It was still early, and the store and office clerks were just hastening to their occupations, but Alton had spent an hour already in a great sawmill. His face was thoughtful, and he seemed to be repeating details of machines and engines half aloud. Presently he stood still and gazed about him, and Seaforth, who followed his gaze, knew there was something working in his comrade's mind. The scene was also inspiriting and suggestive.
Across the wide inlet, mountain beyond mountain towered against the blueness of the north. To the east, sombre forest shut the sheltered basin in, its black ridge serrated by the ragged spires of taller pines, and blurr
