It was the tundra he wanted, before he lay down upon his back with his face to the stars.

He was eager to get away from timber and to feel the immeasurable space of the big country, the open country, about him.

What fool had given to it the name of _Barren Lands_?
What idiots people were to lie about it in that way on the maps! He strapped his pack over his shoulders and seized his rifle.

Barren Lands! He set out, walking like a man in a race.

And long before the twilight hours of sleep they were sweeping out ahead of him in all their glory--the Barren Lands of the map-makers, _his_ paradise.