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The traveller sat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the ordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. He belonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousand miles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles of territory the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police.
The traveller sat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of the ordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. He belonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousand miles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles of territory the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police.
Pierre looked at him musingly. "When Throng is put to By-by what will you do?" he asked. "I will marry her, if she'll have me." "But she is prairie-born, and you!" "I'm a prairie-rider." After a moment Pierre said, as if to himself: "So quiet and clean, and the print calico and muslin, and the ivory brush!"
Not that our Val is bad. He isn't; but if he had money he could buy a ranch, or something." Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, one year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant, a splendid Bohemian of the plains.
As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the beacon, her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was thinking thus to herself: "Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star were only at Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be something, more than a prairie-rider. He'd have been different, if father hadn't started this tavern business.
Not that our Val is bad. He isn't; but if he had money he could buy a ranch, or something." Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, one year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant, a splendid Bohemian of the plains.
As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at the beacon, her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she was thinking thus to herself: "Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Star were only at Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could be something, more than a prairie-rider. He'd have been different, if father hadn't started this tavern business.
Courthorne, and now you remind me of another man I once had dealings with," he said. Winston laughed a little. "I scarcely fancy that is very civil, Sergeant." "Well," said the prairie-rider, "there is a difference, when I look at you more closely. Let me see, I met you once or twice back there in Alberta?" He appeared to be reflecting, but Winston was on his guard.
As he suffered his ornamented buffalo robe to fall into folds about his loins, his stately and graceful figure was fully displayed; and while he sat his horse in an easy attitude, the long feathers of the prairie cock fluttering from the crown of his head, he seemed the very model of a wild prairie-rider. He had not the same features as those of other Indians.
"But she is prairie-born, and you!" "I'm a prairie-rider." After a moment Pierre said, as if to himself: "So quiet and clean, and the print calico and muslin, and the ivory brush!" It is hard to say whether he was merely working on Halby that he be true to the girl, or was himself softhearted for the moment.
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