"Don't think I put this up on you," Jack said. "It was that cape. He
ain't used to such frills. But it was a circus," he added, going off
into a fit of laughter, "worth five dollars any day."

"You bet!" said the half-breed. "Dat's make pretty beeg fun, eh?"

It seemed to me that it depended somewhat upon the point of view, but I
merely agreed with him, only too glad to be so well out of the fight.

All day we followed the trail that wound along the shoulders of the
round-topped hills or down their long slopes into the wide, grassy
valleys. Here and there the valleys were cut through by coulees through
which ran swift, blue-gray rivers, clear and icy cold, while from the
hilltops we caught glimpses of little lakes covered with wild-fowl that
shrieked and squawked and splashed, careless of danger. Now and then we
saw what made a black spot against the green of the prairie, and Jack
told me it was a rancher's shack. How remote from the great world, and
how lonely it seemed!--this little black shack among these multitudinous
hills.

I shall never forget the summer evening when Jack and I rode into
Swan Creek. I say into--but the village was almost entirely one of
imagination, in that it consisted of the Stopping Place, a long log
building, a story and a half high, with stables behind, and the store in
which the post-office was kept and over which the owner dwelt. But the
situation was one of great beauty. On one side the prairie rambled down
from the hills and then stretched away in tawny levels into the misty
purple at the horizon; on the other it clambered over the round, sunny
tops to the dim blue of the mountains beyond.