This little story is the outcome of two trips (neither of which was in the Bear Tooth Forest) during the years 1909 and 1910. Its main claim on the reader’s interest will lie, no doubt, in the character of Berea McFarlane; but I find myself re-living with keen pleasure the splendid drama of wind and cloud and swaying forest which made the expeditions memorable.
ed to know all about one another notwithstanding the fact that they came from ranches scattered up and down the stage line twenty, thirty miles apart--to be neighbors in this country means to be anywhere within a sixty-mile ride--and they gossiped of the countryside as minutely as the residents of a village in Wisconsin discuss their kind. News was scarce.
The north-bound coach got away first, and as the girl came out to take her place, Norcross said: "Won't you have my seat with the driver?"
She dropped her voice humorously. "No, thank you, I can't stand for Bill's clack."
Norcross understood. She didn't relish the notion of being so close to the frankly amorous driver, who neglected no opportunity to be personal; therefore, he helped her to her seat inside and resumed his place in front.
Bill, now broadly communicative, minutely detailed his tastes in food, horses, liquors, and saddles in a long monologue which would have been tiresome to any one but an imaginative young Eastern