“This blinkin’ ’orse is. . . .” Andy stopped as his gaze followed Donald’s. Both sat spell-bound, and the others joined them quietly.
The panorama spread before them was singularly wild and impressive. Below them stretched a lake of emerald hue, rippled here and there by occasional cat’s-paws, but for the most part, placid enough to reflect the shores with mirror-like clearness. To their right lay an open valley, through which ran a crystal clear mountain stream, its banks fringed with willow, alder and cottonwood, with frequent splashes of the early blooming labrador tea. A rustic bridge of logs crossed the rushing stream to a cluster of well-built log cabins that were fenced in by a palisade of cedar posts. Inside the enclosure a patch of freshly ploughed soil stood out rich and dark against the carpet of green.
Under an azure sky, dotted with fleecy clouds, a brilliantly white sky-line of ice-covered mountains, whose peaks flashed in the setting sun, circled this beautiful mountain valley.
From below were wafted the odours of an awakening earth. The sweet perfume of the newly-opened and sticky buds of the balm-of-gilead, the delicious aroma of the spruce and pine, the heavy, sweet smell of the water plants and the white orchis; all this fragrance was borne on the crisp, sparkling mountain air. Involuntarily the travellers filled their lungs with this life-giving atmosphere.
A beautiful gold-eye drake and his drab-coloured mate swam along the shore in search of a safe place to nest. From the centre of the lake a loon sent out its weird cry, echoing and re-echoing from the wooded hills like wild, demoniacal laughter. A quick rush of wings overhead, then a mallard duck struck the water with a loud splash and immediately set up a sustained quacking until answered by a more gentle note from the reeds, whence emerged a hen-mallard. The two met amid a great bobbing of heads. Gabbling in an undertone they swam down the lake together.
The elusive hooting of male blue-grouse came from the tree-tops of the rocky slopes. A willow grouse moved from a clump of bushes with a haughty step to show her finery by ruffling the feathers of her neck and spreading her fan-like tail. There was a sharp “plop” as a rainbow trout curved gracefully on the surface to leave a widening circle of ripples on the calm water. All through this sun-washed valley was the soft murmur of a land at peace—at peace because unspoiled by man.
Donald drew a long breath.
“Strike me pink!” breathed Andy in an awed tone.
“Holy mackerel! but ain’t she a pretty spot?” came excitedly from Gillis.
As they rumbled across the bridge a man came to the door of the log cabin, ran swiftly to the fence and swung the gate open. With a hand held to his brow to shade his eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun, he peered up at the horsemen. His eyes lighted up as he recognized Douglas.