He made a most picturesque guide as he rode ahead of them, always in view, completing a thousand typical combinations of man and horse and landscape--now suppling in his saddle to look down and a little backward at some "sign," now trotting straight towards a dark opening among the pines, now wheeling swiftly to mount a sudden ascent on the trail. Everything he did was as graceful and as self-unconscious as the movements of a panther. He was a living illustration of all the cowboy stories the girl had read. His horse, his saddle, his peculiar, slouching seat, the roll of clothing behind his saddle, his spurs, his long-heeled boots--every detail was as it should be, and Jennie was glad of him, and of Louis, too. "Yes, it's all here, Jennie," replied Curtis--"the wild country, the Indian, the gallant scout, and the tender maiden." "I'm having a beautiful ride. Since we left the wagon-road it really seems like the primitive wilderness." "It is. This little wedge of land is all these brave people have saved from the flood. They made their last stand here. The reflux from the coast caught them here, and here they are, waiting extinction." The girl's eyes widened. "It's tragic, isn't it?" "Yes, but so is all life, except to Calvin Streeter, and even he wants what he can't get. He told me this morning he wanted to go to Chicago and take a fall out of a judge who fined him for carrying a gun. So even he has his unsatisfied ambition. As he told me about it he snarled like a young tiger." At about one o'clock, Calvin, who was riding ahead, halted on the crest of a timbered ridge and raised a shout. "He's topped the divide!" called Curtis to Jennie, who was riding behind. "We'll soon be in." "I'm glad of it. I'm tired." When they reached the spot where Calvin waited they could look down into the main valley of the Elk, and the agency, a singular village of ancient barracks, sheds, corrals, and red-roofed storehouses was almost beneath them. All about on the low hills the criss-crossing trails gave evidence that the Tetongs were still a nation of horsemen. Theirs was a barren land, a land of pine-clad, precipitous hills and deep valleys, which opened to the east--a region of scant rains and thin, discouraged streams. The sight of the officers' whitewashed quarters and the parade-ground brought a certain sadness to Curtis. "The old garrison don't look as it did when I was here in 188-," he said, musingly. "Army days in the West are almost gone. The Indian war is over. What a waste of human life it was on both sides! Yes, Louie, go ahead."