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again young Slim Morgan in search of gold.
In the evenings we sat in the car — how warm it was — and Slim recounted his adventures. He discovered an old crony, Frank N. Smith, the technical director. Smith was associated with the Alaska Commercial Company in Dawson City and had, himself, followed that trail.
I shall never forget the look on Slim's face when he saw him, "It ain't Frank Smith of the A. C»?" he said amazed.
Well, there was a "remember the time when" meeting every evening after that. Clarence Brown, as alert for a novel situation as a newspaper man is for copy, missed not a word of their reminiscences. He steeped himself in the atmosphere.
Slim would begin, "Say, Smith, remember the time that awful pretty little girl from Montreal got into town, with her fine clothes and her high ways?" And turning to me, he would add .sternly, "The Klondike ain't no place for women."
Or again, "Will yu ever fergit the night Charlie Kipp come runnin' in drunk as a fool, goin' to shoot up the town 'cause he claimed Injun Joe stole his dust?" That was good for at least an hour.
And again sadly, "It was a funny thing. Smith, that I never made a strike," then brightening, "but I'm young yit and thar's gold somewheres. I'll strike it, by God!"
Clarence Brown would sit in on these reminiscences meditatively. But one morning we woke up and Slim was not to be found. After breakfast an extra man came to Brown with a note. It was from Slim and it read. "I took the food train for Denver last night. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Brown. I know I won't never be missed in the picture. I hope it's a good picture. I left when I heard about something. One of the porters was telling me that they're thinking about opening up a new road up north. I thought maybe there might be gold in them hills. Thanks for everything you've done."
Slim's sudden departure left an empty place in our nightly gatherings. I will admit that once or twice I did doze over a long winded yarn, but we had all of us felt a vital force in the man, that dogged determination, that ever brilliant hope in the future. His final gesture was exactly like him. He could have left in no other way.
I watched Brown that night. He was meditative and when the others had straggled into the parlor car he said, "The gold rush was exactly like making a motion picture, wasn't it? You're always hoping to do the big thing. Every director, I'm sure, feels just like Slim. Someday, he thinks, he'll find gold in one of those hills. Someday he'll make the big strike. I think we all of us feel that 'The Trail of '98' is going to be a great picture. And we'll feel the same way about our next picture! And we keep on and on and on and the only realities in the world are the unrealities."
We left Corona five days later, fagged, some of us ill, but over-joyed at going back home. Possibly our group is the last group of people who will ever set foot there again, because the great Moffat tunnel is completed and the tracks will be taken away from those few sheds forever.
I left thankful, feeling that I had been a part in the making of history. All during the time I heard no grumbling, no complaining . Everyone did his work and kept his mouth shut about the hardships.
And I wonder just how much Slim Morgan had to do with it. His name will not appear on the cast. He was just an extra man. But not one of us will forget him.
SCREENLAND 97
LET IT RAIN! LET IT POUR!
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