“My Canadian speech!” echoed his wife scornfully. “You're just as much Canadian as I am.”
“And I shall get the ponies. Half an hour will do for me.”
“And less for me,” cried Mandy, dancing off to her work.
And she was right. For, clever housekeeper that she was, she stood with her hamper packed and the fishing tackle ready long before her husband appeared with the ponies.
The trail led steadily upward through winding valleys, but for the most part along the Big Horn, till as it neared a scraggy pine-wood it bore sharply to the left, and, clambering round an immense shoulder of rock, it emerged upon a long and comparatively level ridge of land that rolled in gentle undulations down into a wide park-like valley set out with clumps of birch and poplar, with here and there the shimmer of a lake showing between the yellow and brown of the leaves.
“Oh, what a picture!” cried Mandy, reining up her pony. “What a ranch that would make, Allan! Who owns it? Why did we never come this way before?”
“Piegan Reserve,” said her husband briefly.
“How beautiful! How did they get this particular bit?”
“They gave up a lot for it,” said Cameron drily.
“But think, such a lovely bit of country for a few Indians! How many are there?”