"No," she said. "I'm not hurt, but I'm angry. When you butted in I
couldn't use the bridle."
"I'm sorry; I wanted to help. However, it looks as if your horse had run
away. Have you far to go?"
"The ranch is three miles off."
"How far's the hotel?"
"If you go by the trail, about eight miles. Perhaps four miles, if you
cross the range."
Jimmy studied the thick timber and the steep rocky slopes. Pushing
through tangled underbrush has drawbacks, particularly where
devil's-club thorns are numerous. Besides, he had got a nasty knock and
his leg began to hurt. Then he noted a cotton flour bag with straps
attached lying in the trail.
"I think I won't cross the range. I suppose that bag is yours?"
"It is mine. They put our groceries off the train. I reckon the bag
weighs about forty pounds. I carried the thing on the front of the
saddle; but when you----"
Jimmy nodded. "When I butted in you were forced to let it go! Well,
since I frightened your horse, I ought to carry your bag. If I take it
to the ranch, do you think your folks would give me supper?"
"It's possible. Can you carry the bag?"
"I'll try," said Jimmy. "Have you some grounds to doubt?"
"Packing a load over a rough trail is not as easy as it looks," the girl
rejoined with a twinkle. "Then I expect you're a tourist tenderfoot."
Jimmy liked her smile and he liked her voice. Her Western accent was not
marked and her glance was frank. He thought, if he had not meddled, she
would have mastered the frightened horse; her strength and pluck were
obvious. In the meantime his leg hurt and he could not examine the
injury.
"I am a tourist," he agreed. "Since I'm going to your house, perhaps I
ought to state that I'm Jimmy Leyland, from Lancashire in the Old
Country."
"I am Margaret Jardine."
"Then you're a Scot?"
"My father is a Scot," said Margaret. "I'm Canadian."
"Ah," said Jimmy, "I've heard something like that before and begin to
see what it implies. Well, it looks as if you were an independent lot.
Is one allowed to state that in the Old Country we are rather proud of
you?"
"Since I'd like to make Kelshope before dark, perhaps you had better get
going," Margaret remarked.
Jimmy picked up the bag and fastened the deerskin straps, by which it
hung from his shoulders like a rucksack. They started, and for a time he
kept up with Margaret, but he did not talk. The pack was heavy, he had
not had much breakfast and had gone without his lunch. Besides, his leg
was getting very sore. At length he stopped and began to loose the
straps.
"Do you mind if I take a smoke?" he asked.
Margaret looked at him rather hard, but said she did not mind, and
Jimmy, indicating a cedar log, pulled out his cigarette case.
"Do you smoke?"
"I do not. In the bush, we haven't yet copied the girls at the hotels."
"Now I think about it, the girls who smoked at the Montreal hotel were
not numerous," Jimmy remarked. "When I went to the fishing lodge in
Scotland, all smoked, but then Stannard's friends are very much
up-to-date. The strange thing is, we're thought antiquated in the Old
Country----"
He stopped and tried to brace up. What he wanted to state eluded him. He
felt cold and the pines across the trail got indistinct.
"You see, in some of our circles we rather feel our duty is to be
modern," he resumed with an effort. "I think you're not like that.
Canada's a new country, but, in a way, one feels you're really older
than we are. We have got artificial; you are flesh and blood----"
"Don't talk!" said Margaret firmly, but Jimmy thought her voice was
faint, and for a few moments the tall pines melted altogether.