The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [9]
and their kin gave up to us under persuasion. There was something due them, eh? Let's move on."
For a mile or more the trail ran along the high plateau skirting the Piegan Reserve, where it branched sharply to the right. Cameron paused.
"You see that trail?" pointing to the branch that led to the left and downward into the valley. "That is one of the oldest and most famous of all Indian trails. It strikes down through the Crow's Nest Pass and beyond the pass joins the ancient Sun Dance Trail. That's my old beat. And weird things are a-doing along that same old Sun Dance Trail this blessed minute or I miss my guess. I venture to say that this old trail has often been marked with blood from end to end in the fierce old days."
"Let's go," said Mandy, with a shudder, and, turning her pony to the right, she took the trail that led them down from the plateau, plunged into a valley, wound among rocks and thickets of pine till it reached a tumbling mountain torrent of gray-blue water, fed from glaciers high up between the great peaks beyond.
"My Little Horn!" cried Mandy with delight.
Down by its rushing water they scrambled till they came to a sunny glade where the little fretful torrent pitched itself headlong into a deep shady pool, whence, as if rested in those quiet deeps, it issued at first with gentle murmuring till, out of earshot of the pool, it broke again into turbulent raging, brawling its way to the Big Horn below.
Mandy could hardly wait for the unloading and tethering of the ponies.
"Now," she cried, when all was ready, "for my very first fish. How shall I fling this hook and where?"
"Try a cast yonder, just beside that overhanging willow. Don't splash! Try again--drop it lightly. That's better. Don't tell me you've never cast a fly before."
"Never in my life."
"Let it float down a bit. Now back. Hold it up and let it dance there. I'll just have a pipe."
But next moment Cameron's pipe was forgotten. With a shout he sprang to his wife's side.
"By Jove, you've got him!"
"No! No! Leave me alone! Just tell me what to do. Go away! Don't touch me! Oh-h-h! He's gone!"
"Not a bit. Reel him up--reel him up a little."
"Oh, I can't reel the thing! Oh! Oh-h-h! Is he gone?"
"Hold up. Don't haul him too quickly--keep him playing. Wait till I get the net." He rushed for the landing net.
"Oh, he's gone! He's gone! Oh, I'm so mad!" She stamped savagely on the grass. "He was a monster."
"They always are," said her husband gravely. "The fellows that get off, I mean."
"Now you're just laughing at me, and I won't have it! I could just sit down and cry! My very first fish!"
"Never mind, Mandy, we'll get him or just as good a one again."
"Never! He'll never bite again. He isn't such a fool."
"Well, they do. They're just like the rest of us. They keep nibbling till they get caught; else there would be no fun in fishing or in-- Now try another throw--same place--a little farther down. Ah! That was a fine cast. Once more. No, no, not that way. Flip it lightly and if you ever get a bite hold your rod so. See? Press the end against your body so that you can reel your fish in. And don't hurry these big fellows. You lose them and you lose your fun."
"I don't want the fun," cried Mandy, "but I do want that fish and I'm going to get him."
"By Jove, I believe you just will!" The young man's dark eyes flashed an admiring glance over the strong, supple, swaying figure of the girl at his side, whose every move, as she cast her fly, seemed specially designed to reveal some new combination of the graceful curves of her well-knit body.
"Keep flicking there. You'll get him. He's just sulking. If he only knew, he'd hurry up."
"Knew what?"
"Who was fishing for him."
"Oh! Oh! I've got him." The girl was dancing excitedly along the bank. "No! Oh, what a wretch! He's gone. Now if I get him you tell me what to do, but don't touch me."
"All you have to do is to hold him steady at the first. Keep your line fairly tight.
For a mile or more the trail ran along the high plateau skirting the Piegan Reserve, where it branched sharply to the right. Cameron paused.
"You see that trail?" pointing to the branch that led to the left and downward into the valley. "That is one of the oldest and most famous of all Indian trails. It strikes down through the Crow's Nest Pass and beyond the pass joins the ancient Sun Dance Trail. That's my old beat. And weird things are a-doing along that same old Sun Dance Trail this blessed minute or I miss my guess. I venture to say that this old trail has often been marked with blood from end to end in the fierce old days."
"Let's go," said Mandy, with a shudder, and, turning her pony to the right, she took the trail that led them down from the plateau, plunged into a valley, wound among rocks and thickets of pine till it reached a tumbling mountain torrent of gray-blue water, fed from glaciers high up between the great peaks beyond.
"My Little Horn!" cried Mandy with delight.
Down by its rushing water they scrambled till they came to a sunny glade where the little fretful torrent pitched itself headlong into a deep shady pool, whence, as if rested in those quiet deeps, it issued at first with gentle murmuring till, out of earshot of the pool, it broke again into turbulent raging, brawling its way to the Big Horn below.
Mandy could hardly wait for the unloading and tethering of the ponies.
"Now," she cried, when all was ready, "for my very first fish. How shall I fling this hook and where?"
"Try a cast yonder, just beside that overhanging willow. Don't splash! Try again--drop it lightly. That's better. Don't tell me you've never cast a fly before."
"Never in my life."
"Let it float down a bit. Now back. Hold it up and let it dance there. I'll just have a pipe."
But next moment Cameron's pipe was forgotten. With a shout he sprang to his wife's side.
"By Jove, you've got him!"
"No! No! Leave me alone! Just tell me what to do. Go away! Don't touch me! Oh-h-h! He's gone!"
"Not a bit. Reel him up--reel him up a little."
"Oh, I can't reel the thing! Oh! Oh-h-h! Is he gone?"
"Hold up. Don't haul him too quickly--keep him playing. Wait till I get the net." He rushed for the landing net.
"Oh, he's gone! He's gone! Oh, I'm so mad!" She stamped savagely on the grass. "He was a monster."
"They always are," said her husband gravely. "The fellows that get off, I mean."
"Now you're just laughing at me, and I won't have it! I could just sit down and cry! My very first fish!"
"Never mind, Mandy, we'll get him or just as good a one again."
"Never! He'll never bite again. He isn't such a fool."
"Well, they do. They're just like the rest of us. They keep nibbling till they get caught; else there would be no fun in fishing or in-- Now try another throw--same place--a little farther down. Ah! That was a fine cast. Once more. No, no, not that way. Flip it lightly and if you ever get a bite hold your rod so. See? Press the end against your body so that you can reel your fish in. And don't hurry these big fellows. You lose them and you lose your fun."
"I don't want the fun," cried Mandy, "but I do want that fish and I'm going to get him."
"By Jove, I believe you just will!" The young man's dark eyes flashed an admiring glance over the strong, supple, swaying figure of the girl at his side, whose every move, as she cast her fly, seemed specially designed to reveal some new combination of the graceful curves of her well-knit body.
"Keep flicking there. You'll get him. He's just sulking. If he only knew, he'd hurry up."
"Knew what?"
"Who was fishing for him."
"Oh! Oh! I've got him." The girl was dancing excitedly along the bank. "No! Oh, what a wretch! He's gone. Now if I get him you tell me what to do, but don't touch me."
"All you have to do is to hold him steady at the first. Keep your line fairly tight.