MAN ON THE QU'APPELLE TRAIL 23 



his surroundings. A huge jack-rabbit sprang up, almost 

 from beneath the noses of the team, and went flying off 

 in great leaps over the stubble. A covey of prairie 

 chicken, fat and fit, whirred into the air and rocketed 

 away. But he scarcely saw them. Had he looked up 

 he might have noticed a horseman loping down a cross 

 trail with the evident intention of heading off the 

 wagon. But the rider had pounded almost within hail- 

 ing distance before the other was aware of his approach. 



It was Bob McNair of the " Two-Bar Ranch," as he 

 insisted upon calling his wheat farm. He waved an 

 oil-spattered Stetson and came into the trail with a 

 rush, pulling up the wiry broncho with a suddenness 

 that would have unseated one less accustomed than 

 McNair, former corporal, Koyal North-West Mounted 

 Police. 



" Howdy, W. R. Thought 'twas your outfit. Good 

 job I aint a Blackfoot on the warpath," he laughed. 

 " I'd sure 'a' had your scalp sneaked before you could 

 draw a bead!" He swung alongside, stepped into the 

 wagon, looped the bridle-rein over the handle of the 

 new plow and, climbing forward, shook hands heartily 

 and sat down. 



"You're looking fit, Bob," welcomed the other with 

 evident pleasure. "What brings you over this way? 

 Everything going alright?" -..^^ 



" So-so," nodded McNair. " Been over(1intaluta)to 

 see about gettin' a car, among other things?* ^ 



" Of course you got it?" 



" Sure ! Oh, sure I got it got it still to get !" and 

 McNair burst into a flow of language that did even 

 him justice. More or less vehement at all times, the 

 one-time corporal exhibited so much vigor in his 

 remarks that his good-natured auditor had to laugh. 



