LT re

thunderous roar of unseen dangers ahead.
As boat after boat hurtled over the chutes
behind, a shattering impact of rending wood
threw the movie craft on its beam ends.
Next moment it was caught sideways be-
tween the rock -wall and the midstream
pillar of granite with the entire river at-
tempting to engulf it and the rest of the
flotilla piling down upon it.

Then Providence intervened. By a miracle
the stern slipped downstream, the drenched
movie man and his terror-stricken crew were
carried on the swift surge of glassy waters
over the last chute but a hairsbreadth ahead
of the boats that but a moment before
seemed destined to smash the craft to match-
wood and join them in a watery grave.

On October 16th, John G. Bocock alighted
from his slat-ribbed cayuse at Hudson Hope
and announced that the defeated Bedaux
expedition would arrive the following day.
And arrive it did! Two dilapidated ladies,
to say nothing of the fair but mosquito-bit-
ten Josephine; a bunch of bearded, smoke-
begrimed men in patched and greasy over-
alls, a still jittery camera-man, and a woe-
fully reduced number of gaunt horses that
staggered beneath the weight of empty pack-
saddles. Gone were the tractors, the rubber
rafts, the wireless and all other aids to
exploration de luxe.

The genial and enterprising Bedaux had
not succeeded in taking his motorized caval-
cade across the Rockies to its unimportant
destination. Neither had he succeeded in
demonstrating his ability to accomplish the

impossible. Speaking as one who has cov-
ered this region countless times by pack-
train and dog-team I would venture to say
that this highly publicized expedition suc-
ceeded in one thing only. In confirming the
prophecies and warnings of those who knew
the region, and in furnishing a shin‘ng
example of how not to attempt the conquest
of the wilderness.

Standing amidst the dilapidated wreckage
of his abortive expedition, a mud-stained
woe-begone figure, the mercurial leader re-
fused to admit defeat and smiled away his
unceremonious retreat. “We hope,” stated
Bedaux in a contemporary press despatch,
“to tackle the undertaking next year and
go through with it. The gasoline consump-
tion of the five tractors was terrifically high.
When we abandoned, or lost, the machines
we had gasoline for only a hundred miles,
and our next cache was two hundred miles
away. The driving bands were ruined by

the constant wearing of the gumbo mud.
The engineers who designed the tractors
didn’t know what gumbo mud was like,
And hoof-rot did the rest.”

It was variously reported that this fan-
tastic expedition, that made the eyes of
pioneer trappers pop out of their heads,
cost over a quarter of a million dollars.
There is no doubt it cost plenty! ~This
trip has been unique,” smiled the irre |
pressible Bedaux. A conclusion that no one
has yet been known to disagree with.

On February 19th, 1944, as the book con-
taining this chapter was going to press,
word was flashed over the radio that Charles
Bedaux had committed suicide at Miami,
Florida, by taking an overdose of sleeping
tablets. His death occurred as two special
assistant attorneys-general were preparing
to seek federal grand jury indictments
charging Bedaux with treason arising out of
his activities in Vichy, France, and Alg’ers,

U. S. bomber, Alaska-bound, on airport reared in the heart of the region through which the mystery .
: expedition sought to penetrate

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