Her arm darted out in front of me, seized the barrel of the gun and drew it swiftly to one side. I had been taking a most deliberate aim, to justify the high opinion already referred to, but at Jean's sudden interference I pressed the trigger, or, as I always claimed, it pulled itself against my finger, and went off. There was a loud report, and the sound of shot harmlessly lashing the water. "Did you get him--did you get him?" shouted Marjorie and Jack, rushing down upon us. "No, I didn't get him," I explained. "I didn't even try to get him. I just wanted to see how far the gun would carry." "I wouldn't let him," said Jean. "It would have been a--just a horrible thing to shoot one of those poor creatures, the very first night we were here! How beautiful they were, and how--how loving!" She said the last word with a bashful, falling inflection that was wonderful to hear. "It's much more horrible to have no wild duck--ducklet I mean--for to-morrow's dinner," said Jack. "And those cartridges cost ever so much; what is it?--three or four cents each," Marjorie remonstrated. "Well, let's go back." We returned to our camp and started to make ready for the night. But Jack, true to his promise, gathered up his blankets, waded the cold stream, and slept under the stars of Twenty-two. We had begun our "period of residence." CHAPTER VII. The morning was another gorgeous burst of sunshine. There had been an early dew, and as the sunlight swept along the prairies every blade of grass was hung with diamonds. When I was able to shed my blankets--I have always had a way of getting into intricate entanglements with the bed clothes--I filled my lungs with the fresh oxygen, thumped my chest with my fists, and, looking out over the sparkling prairie, breathed a sort of prayer of possession--"It's mine; it's mine!" Then I found my soap and towel and hustled down to the stream for my morning wash. The girls, too, were early about. As I came up from the stream I met Jean going down, wearing a blanket, Indian fashion, for lack of a bathrobe. A week on a dusty trail had made the presence of snow water, as deep as one wanted it, a peculiar luxury. "Gee, but it's good to be alive!" she exclaimed, swinging her arms, to the peril of her costume. "Does one always feel like this on the prairies?" "Always mildly intoxicated, so Jake says, but those are not his words. That's why Westerners are more optimistic--and more reckless--than Easterners. Always an atmosphere jag under their belts." "Here's to Jake," she cried. "Have one with me!" as she took a great chestful of fresh air. "See you at breakfast--if I'm sober enough!"