it."

I had intended to be somewhat stiff with him, but his evident admiration
of me made me quite forget this laudable intention, and, as he talked
on without waiting for an answer, his enthusiasm, his deference to my
opinion, his charm of manner, his beautiful face, his luminous eyes,
made him perfectly irresistible; and before I was aware I was listening
to his plans for working his mission with eager interest. So eager was
my interest, indeed, that before I was aware I found myself asking him
to tea with me in my shack. But he declined, saying:

"I'd like to, awfully; but do you know, I think Latour expects me."

This consideration of Latour's feelings almost upset me.

"You come with me," he added, and I went.

Latour welcomed us with his grim old face wreathed in unusual smiles.
The pilot had been talking to him, too.

"I've got it, Latour!" he cried out as he entered; "here you are,"
and he broke into the beautiful French-Canadian chanson, "A la Claire
Fontaine," to the old half-breed's almost tearful delight.

"Do you know," he went on, "I heard that first down the Mattawa,"
and away he went into a story of an experience with French-Canadian
raftsmen, mixing up his French and English in so charming a manner that
Latour; who in his younger days long ago had been a shantyman himself,
hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or on his heels.

After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sunset from the nearest
rising ground. Latour, with unexampled generosity, offered his own
cayuse, "Louis."

"I can't ride well," protested The Pilot.

"Ah! dat's good ponee, Louis," urged Latour. "He's quiet lak wan leetle
mouse; he's ride lak--what you call?--wan horse-on-de-rock." Under which
persuasion the pony was accepted.

That evening I saw the Swan Creek country with new eyes--through the
luminous eyes of The Pilot. We rode up the trail by the side of the Swan
till we came to the coulee mouth, dark and full of mystery.

"Come on," I said, "we must get to the top for the sunset."

He looked lingeringly into the deep shadows and asked: "Anything live
down there?"

"Coyotes and wolves and ghosts."

"Ghosts?" he asked, delightedly. "Do you know, I was sure there were,
and I'm quite sure I shall see them."

Then we took the Porcupine trail and climbed for about two miles the
gentle slope to the top of the first rising ground. There we stayed and
watched the sun take his nightly plunge into the sea of moun