“I envy you your ride and the fresh air, Miss Fletcher. It seems ages since I felt my horse under me. I never shall forgive him for stepping in a hole that day. Guess if I had not been so intent watching the girl in the distance,” he spoke as to himself, “trying to assure myself it was Miss Fletcher, he would not have thrown me.” “Oh, Mr. Davis! I hope I was not even the unconscious cause of your accident,” Bess replied anxiously. “Are girls such a rare sight on the reservation that even horses run away when they see them?” she added, half jokingly. “Well—girls like you are, yes,” he replied, meaningly, but the girl would not understand. “When I am well and able to ride, will you let me show you some of the interesting places on the reserve? We’ll visit the Mission, with its school of Indians, and the church.” “Oh, I should be happy to go. Thank you, Mr. Davis; but I fear I cannot wait, for Henry and James have planned to go with me to the Mission next Sunday, and we expect to be there for mass. I can scarcely wait, and know the trip will be full of interest.” “Henry West seems to take quite a good deal of your time,” he said pettishly, and Bess wrinkled her brow, amused at his displeasure. “Let me finish the book,” suggested Bess, but the man said he was tired and would prefer to rest. She regretted his petulant mood, and quietly left the room. CHAPTER IX “HELEN” AT ST. IGNATIUS MISSION Oh! the rarity of that early June morning when a trio of happy beings mounted their eager horses. The dawn was still in the east, where roseate clouds hung soft and low on the crests of the mountains. In the shadows the blueness of the fleeing night still lingered. The air was unusually soft for the early hour and birds twittered to arouse their tardy nest-mates. The tamaracks were now the softest, tenderest green, and in the dawning light seemed like soft billows of sea foam which had been flung through the miles of space and caught in the outstretched arms of the tall monarchs of the hills. It was only a little after five o’clock, but the long ride of twenty-five miles to St. Ignatius Mission demanded an early start, so that the horses might be well rested before returning to _HW_ ranch. Henry West was cramming into the pockets of his mackinaw what later proved to be some appetizing sandwiches; for he knew Fletcher’s returning health and vigor caused insatiable demand for “grub.” Mrs. West had thoughtfully prepared the lunch as they were hurrying to get started. Now she stood in the open doorway, smiling good-byes to her family.