Over the old road surged a romantic travel. There were pack-
trains of horses, mules, oxen, and even camels—for these ships of
the desert were imported to carry freight to Cariboo—that went
plodding along the trail from road-house to road-house of logs;
there were covered wagons that went lumbering along laden with
freight for the mines; Concord coaches carrying passengers and mail
to the distant creeks and returning at breakneck pace, escorted by
armed cavalrymen to guard the gold-dust carried in ‘‘ the boot.”
‘There, too, were those hardy and courageous men who, enticed on
by visions of wealth to be won from the gravels, walked the weary
miles, carrying their worldly belongings in pack on their backs, or
trundled their possessions in barrows.

And so the army of Daring Men passed on over the Road to
Cariboo. But when the moon glimmers over the jagged, black sil-
houette of the mountain-tops and the river is glistening like a silver
ribbon hundreds of feet below, the imaginative can hear again the
rumble of the covered-wagon wheels, the straining leather and
pounding hoofs of the express, and the slow, methodical footfalls of
the Courageous Ones—on their way to Cariboo.

From the seaboard the way lies through the fertile fields of the
Lower Fraser Valley, with connecting-links at Cloverdale, Alder-
grove, and Huntingdon, where the highways running north from
United States join the Yale Road. The way leads through the

Mid splendid scenery the mighty Fraser is spanned.