is another type of mind which finds a more absorbing spell in the contemplation of things to come than of things long past; another temperament to which the proven and the tried possess a flat and tasteless flavor.  They are restless, anticipative people; they are the ones who blaze trails.  To them great cities, established order, the intricate structure of well-settled life, are both monotonous and oppressive; they do not thrive well thereunder.  But put them out on the fringe of things, transplant them to wild soil, and the sap runs, they flower rankly.

To Pierce Phillips the new surroundings into which he had been projected were intensely stimulating; they excited him as he had never been excited, and each day he awoke to the sense of new adventures.  Life, as he had known it, had always been good—­and full, too, for that matter—­and he had hugely enjoyed it; nevertheless, it had impressed upon him a sense of his own insignificance.  He had been lost, submerged, in it.  Here, on the threshold of a new world, he had begun to find himself, and the experience was delightful.  By some magic he had been lifted to a common level with every other man, and no one had advantage over him.  The momentous future was as much his as theirs and the God of Luck was in charge of things.

There was a fever in the very air he breathed, the food he ate, the water he drank.  Life ran at a furious pace and it inspired in him supreme exhilaration to be swept along by it.  Over all this new land was a purple haze of mystery—­a sense of the Unknown right at hand.  The Beyond was beckoning; it was as if great curtains had parted and he beheld vistas of tremendous promise.  Keenest of all, perhaps, was his joy at discovering himself.

Appreciation of this miraculous rebirth was fullest when, at rare intervals, he came off the trail and back to Dyea, for then he renewed his touch with that other world, and the contrast became more evident.

Dyea throbbed nowadays beneath a mighty head of steam; it had grown surprisingly and it was intensely alive.  Phillips never came back to it without an emotional thrill and a realization of great issues, great undertakings, in process of working out.  The knowledge that he had a part in them aroused in him an intoxicating pleasure.

Dyea had become a metropolis of boards and canvas, of logs and corrugated iron.  Stores had risen, there were hotels and lodging-houses, busy restaurants and busier saloons whence came the sounds of revelry by night and by day.  It was a healthy revelry, by the way, like the boisterous hilarity of a robust boy.  Dyea was just that—­an overgrown, hilarious boy.  There was nothing querulous or sickly about this child; it was strong, it was sturdy, it was rough; it romped with everybody and it grew out of its clothes overnight.  Every house, every tent, in the town was crowded; supply never quite overtook demand.