“Why in the world, Bess, have you put on your riding togs?”
Bess looked up with surprise and replied: “Why, James, are we not going horseback to the HW Ranch?”
“We can’t start for the ranch tonight. It is at least thirty-five miles, and besides you can never ride so far, even though Henry West should bring saddle horses. The stage leaves here for Polson early in the morning, and we will, in all probability, meet him there. Still, he wired he would meet us here at Selish. It is early yet, and he may come soon.”
With a little impatient gesture of putting back the hair from her forehead, and with her eyes sparkling, half defiantly and half in fun, Bess said: “My dear, solicitous brother, let me tell you a few things right now. I am here in the great West where you have told me there is perfect and untrammeled freedom. Don’t begin using a lot of don’ts and can’ts, for I am going to ride—‘and ever to ride’, when and where and with whom my fancy dictates; I am going to talk with anyone who interests me, be he white or full-blood Indian. I am going to—Oh, what am I not going to do!—even shock my dear, old brother, half to death, every day—you dear”—She jumped from her seat at the table and after flinging her arms around his neck, she was out of the room, her merry laugh ringing in his ears, before he had time to remonstrate.
“My dear little sister,” he thought, “I pray there may no harm come to you, and that your frankness may not be misconstrued by those who are ever ready to criticise.”
[CHAPTER II]
THE GOLDEN GLIMPSE
Bess had donned her fluffy brown tam-o-shanter and stood on the veranda. Shadows of evening were silently gathering in the valley, and yet she could see that beyond the hill the sun still shone. “That hill looks rather high,” she said briskly, “but I do so long to see what lies beyond it. I think I’ll go up the road and take a glimpse before the sun sets. Brother won’t miss me and I’ll only be gone a minute.”
As she walked she stooped to pick some shining butter-cups, and to thrust in her hair waxen leaves of the Oregon grape, with its bright yellow clusters of blossoms. So interested was she in each new leaf and stone that the crest of the long, winding road had been reached before she was aware. Lifting her eyes she caught her breath, and unconsciously lifted her hands in silent adoration of the glorious panorama spread out before her, her first real look at the “golden West.”