“We—camp on the Big Arm—perhaps—you can find it,” came from her lips with an effort. Davis felt hurt that his request was not answered more heartily, but he concealed his chagrin with a smile of assurance that he would come. The happy, alert girl saw a subtle change stealing over nature and knew that autumn had come. How delicious was the aroma of the firs and pines as the horses went along the shaded road through the long stretch of timber! Occasionally through the tangle of scrub-maples, whose bright green foliage was splashed here and there by a scarlet leaf, one caught a glimpse of the deep blue, glistening lake and the mountains on its east shore. Tiny squirrels and chipmunks were scampering over fallen logs or chattering high up in the tamarack branches. Every rock and stump was beautiful with its creeping wreath of kinnikinick, whose glossy foliage and large scarlet berries puts to shame the holly. On the buck-brush hung great, white snow-drops, while the wild rose bushes were heavy with scarlet fruit. The whirr of a pheasant through the underbrush caused Mauchacho to prick up his ears and quicken his pace. A blue grouse with her late brood scurried across the road seeking the shelter of the thicket. Bess wished she too were some dainty feathered creature, happy in the solitude of the woods, free from all restraint, secure within the sheltering arms of the earth. Oh! to creep away off under the tender green branches; to clasp her arms about the rough bark of the pine trees; to rest her cheek upon the redolent grasses! On the outstretched limb of a charred pine tree sat a large, blinking owl. Great tufts of grey feathers covered his legs and claws, while at his throat shone the purest white. Bess raised an imaginary gun with a deliberate aim, and immediately Mr. Owl stretched his large white and grey wings and was out of sight. “Oh, see!” cried the girl, as only a few yards ahead of them there sprang across the trail a white-tailed doe and fawn! Only for a brief instant did they pause, then went crashing through the timber and brush, flirting defiant good-byes with their white flags. The cowboy was watching surreptitiously from the corner of his eye the pleasure and animation which Bess was enjoying. Her brown eyes danced and filled; her cheeks flamed as if touched with an Indian’s paintbrush, suggesting an autumn leaf through her brown, fluffy hair. Her enjoyment was keen because of a sweet and sensitive temperament alive to the surroundings and susceptible to the wonders of nature. “Did you hear that?” asked Bess of her companion. “Yes—that was the boat whistle. Your party are probably near their landing place. Guess we have about three miles more to go before we reach there.”