“Might know a lot,” Mark wrinkled his brow. “What do you say?” he turned to the others. “No trade?”
“No trade, I’d say,” was Florence’s quick response.
“Al—alright. No trade.” Mary swallowed hard. She had wanted to be near town.
“Whatever you children want,” agreed the meek little mother. Life had pushed her about so long she was quite willing to take the strong arm of her son and to say, “You lead the way.”
“It’s a lot like playing a hunch,” Mark laughed uncertainly. “After all, the claim we got is the claim we drew. Looks like God intended it that way. Besides there’s old Boss. We couldn’t—”
“No, we couldn’t do without her,” Mary exclaimed. And so the matter was settled. Somewhere out there where the sun set would be their home.
Two hours later Florence and Mary were enjoying a strange ride. From some unsuspected source, the Indian girl had secured five shaggy dogs. These were hitched, not to a sled, for there was no snow, but to a narrow three-wheeled cart equipped with auto wheels. Whence had come those auto wheels? Florence did not ask, enough that they eased their way over the bumps along the narrow, uneven trail that might, in time, become a road.
The land they were passing over fascinated Mary, who had an eye for the beautiful. Now they passed through groves of sweet-scented, low-growing fir and spruce, now watched the pale green and white of quaking asp, and now went rolling over a low, level, treeless stretch where the early grass turned all to a luscious green, and white flowers stood out like stars.
The surprise of their journey came when, after passing through a wide stretch of timber, they arrived quite suddenly upon an open space.
“A clearing! A cabin! A lake!” Mary exclaimed. “How beautiful!”