MAN ON THE QU'APPELLE TRAIL 29 



McNair might find rattle-brained listeners enough to 

 cause a heap of trouble. There were always a few 

 fellows ready for excitement ; they might go in for the 

 fun of it, then before they knew it the thing would 

 curdle over night like a pan of milk in a thunder-storm. 



" He's just darn fool enough to try some funny work," 

 muttered the anxious driver of the grain wagon. " Jail- 

 ing him only makes a hero of him and that's the kind of 

 thing the beggar glories in. The son-of-a-gun !" 



One by one throughout the afternoon the miles crept 

 tediously beneath the wagon. The sun which had 

 steeped the stubble in gold all day had turned the sky 

 and was poising for its nightly dip below the horizon 

 by the time the long misty blue line of the Qu'Appelle 

 hills began to creep from the prairie. When the lone 

 traveller at last could count the deep shadowy coulees 

 the sun had disappeared, but the riot of after-fires still 

 burned brightly in the west. He had passed his own 

 place hours before, but had stopped there only for a 

 change of horses and a brief rest; a parcel and an 

 important message which he wished to deliver in person 

 at Fort Qu'Appelle without delay was extending his 

 day's journey. 



Six hundred feet below the level of the plain the 

 grassy slopes of the Qu'Appelle Valley bowled to the 

 blue lakes. Hugging the water's edge, the buildings of 

 the romantic old fort scattered in the twilight. The 

 winding trail stood out like a white thread that reached 

 down the valley towards the Catholic Mission of Lebret. 



Before heading into the steep descent the farmer 

 from over Abernethy way slipped on his heavy cardigan 

 jacket ; for behind the rim of the hills the sunset fires 

 were dying and already the coolness of the October 

 night was making itself felt. At the mouth of a coulee 



