After a laborious month ascending the Sinclair, plotting the river and collecting geological data and specimens, they came to a lonely trading outpost on the Pacific side of the mountains, called Pinnacle House. It stood amidst wild and beautiful surroundings in a deep green valley between parallel ranges. The pointed limestone peaks gave it its name. How strange it was to find such homely old friends as cabbages, onions and potatoes growing in the trader’s garden!
The trader was away on his usual summer journey to bring in supplies; and they found his house occupied at the moment by the Reverend Patrick Geogehagen, a famous character of the country, better known as “Patsy.” Patsy was a brawny, bright-eyed wrestler for the Lord, with cherry-colored cheeks, and a spreading black beard that saved him the trouble of wearing a necktie. It was his self-imposed duty to visit and minister to those tribes of Indians who were too poor, too disreputable or too far away to attract the attention of the regular missionaries.
When they hailed him he was cleaning his gun at the door of the single log shack that served both for store and dwelling at Pinnacle House, and there was nothing in his rough dress to indicate his calling. When he introduced himself, Conacher looked at Loseis with a quick, smiling question and Loseis answered it with a quick, smiling assent. Conacher whispered shamefacedly to Patsy, who thereupon gave him a frightful clap on the back, and roared:
“Delighted, my boy!”
Conacher took Langmuir aside. The chief wagged his head in perplexity; and scratched it, and grumbled:
“What the deuce, Conny! Such a thing was never heard of in a party engaged on field work! What will it look like in my report? Oh, Lord! think of the explanations I will be called on to make to all the old women in the Department!”
“Why should it appear in the report?” said Conacher. “It’s none of the Government’s business. Have I been any the worse worker during the past month?”
“No, no! you’ve worked like two! . . . Hm! that’s so. Why should it appear? . . . Go ahead, my boy; and God bless you! I bags to give the bride away.”
As a matter of fact, it did not appear. The report of Langmuir’s party is filed away with many others equally decorous, and nobody in the Government ever suspected that they entertained a Princess during the summer and celebrated a wedding.
There were no wedding garments in the outfit but a great shaving, shearing, washing and brushing-up took place. The fellows decorated the single room of the cabin with spruce branches and flowers from the mountain side. Loseis had to be married in breeches and boots because it was all she had. At least her clothes were neatly mended by this time. Her smile was the smile of a happy bride; and nobody was aware of any incongruity. Conacher looked as frightened as every well-disposed man is supposed to be at his wedding; and large fat tears rolled down the bridesmaid’s dark cheeks. Up to the moment of donning his vestments Patsy joked outrageously; he then became the priest of God. In a free and natural state of society these abrupt contrasts are perfectly well understood. Nobody thought the less of Patsy because he was a man as well as a priest.