He had a clear voice, and the words, which were filled with
the hope of youth, rang bravely through the stillness of the frozen
wilderness until the horse blundered, and Winston stopped with a little
smile.
"It's four long years since I felt as I do to-night," he said.
Then he drew bridle and checked the horse as the lights of the
settlement commenced to blink ahead, for the trail was rutted deep and
frozen into the likeness of adamant, but when the first frame houses
flung tracks of yellow radiance across the whitened grass he dropped
his left arm a trifle, and rode in at a canter as he had seen
Courthorne do. Winston did not like Courthorne, but he meant to keep
his bargain.
As he passed the hotel more slowly a man who came out called to him.
"Hello, Lance! Taking the trail?" he said. "Well, it kind of strikes
me it's time you did. One of Stimson's boys was down here, and he
seemed quite anxious about you."
Winston knew the man, and was about to urge the horse forward, but in
place of it drew bridle, and laughed with a feeling that was wholly new
to him as he remembered that his neighbors now and then bantered him
about his English, and that Courthorne only used the Western
colloquialism when it suited him.
"Sergeant Stimson is an enterprising officer, but there are as keen men
as he is," he said. "You will, in case he questions you, remember when
you met me."
"Oh, yes," said the other. "Still, I wouldn't fool too much with
him--and where did you get those mittens from? That's the kind of
outfit that would suit Winston.
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