"Packing a load over a rough trail is not as easy as it looks," the girl rejoined with a twinkle. "Then I expect you're a tourist tenderfoot."
Jimmy liked her smile and he liked her voice. Her Western accent was not marked and her glance was frank. He thought, if he had not meddled, she would have mastered the frightened horse; her strength and pluck were obvious. In the meantime his leg hurt and he could not examine the injury.
"I am a tourist," he agreed. "Since I'm going to your house, perhaps I ought to state that I'm Jimmy Leyland, from Lancashire in the Old Country."
"I am Margaret Jardine."
"Then you're a Scot?"
"My father is a Scot," said Margaret. "I'm Canadian."
"Ah," said Jimmy, "I've heard something like that before and begin to see what it implies. Well, it looks as if you were an independent lot. Is one allowed to state that in the Old Country we are rather proud of you?"
"Since I'd like to make Kelshope before dark, perhaps you had better get going," Margaret remarked.
Jimmy picked up the bag and fastened the deerskin straps, by which it hung from his shoulders like a rucksack. They started, and for a time he kept up with Margaret, but he did not talk. The pack was heavy, he had not had much breakfast and had gone without his lunch. Besides, his leg was getting very sore. At length he stopped and began to loose the straps.
"Do you mind if I take a smoke?" he asked.