Gasolene Gus' conversation was no help to one's peace of mind. Each spot along the route brought reminiscences of so-and-so breaking a leg or a few ribs. He was for ever telling us to be prepared to jump and warning us that a bad place was coming, around the bend. It was with a sigh of relief that we unloaded at Lac La Biche – the half way point – where a train would show up sooner or later to take us on to Edmonton.
Lac La Biche, a small country village, represented Civilization to us, and I was in the middle of a game of Boston Pool, when I received a message that a W. Christie, whom I didn't know, wanted to see me.
