, they finally
bolted, fortunately choosing the trail that led in the right direction.

"Good-by, Jimmy. See you later," sang out French as, with cool head
and steady hand, he directed the running ponies.

"Jumpin' cats!" replied Jimmy soberly, "don't look as if you
would," as the bronchos tore up the river bank at a terrific gallop.

Before they reached the top French had them in hand, and going more
smoothly, though still running at top speed. Kalman sat clinging to
the rocking, pitching buckboard, his eyes alight and his face aglow
with excitement. There was stirring in the boy's brain a dim and
far-away memory of wild rides over the steppes of Southern Russia,
and French, glancing now and then at his glowing face, nodded grim
approval.

"Afraid, boy?" he shouted over the roar and rattle of the pitching
buckboard.

Kalman looked up and smiled, and then with a great oath he cried,
"Let them go!"

Jack French was startled. He hauled up the ponies sharply and
turned to the boy at his side.

"Boy, where did you learn that?"

"What?" asked the boy in surprise.

"Where did you learn to swear like that?"

"Why," said Kalman, "they all do it."

"Who all?"

"Why, everybody in Winnipeg."

"Does Mrs. French?" said Jack quietly.

The boy's face flushed hotly.

"No, no," he said vehemently, "never her." Then after a pause and
an evident struggle, "She wants me to stop, but all the men and the
boys do it."

"Kalman," said French solemnly, "no one swears on my ranch."

Kalman was perplexed, remembering the scene of the previous night.

"But you--" he began, and then paused.

"Boy," repeated French with added solemnity, "swearing is a foolish
and unnecessary evil. There is no swearing on my ranch. Promise me
you will give up this habit."

"I will not," said the boy promptly, "for I would break my word.
Don't you swear?"

French hesitated, and then as if forming a sudden resolution he
replied, "When you hear me swear you can begin. And if you don't
mean to quit, don't promise. A gentleman always keeps his word."

The boy looked him steadily in the eye and then said, as if
pondering this remark, "I remember. I know. My father said so."

French forbore to press the matter further, but for both man and
boy an attempt at a new habit of speech began that day.

Once clear of the Saskatchewan River, the trail led over rolling
prairie, set out with numerous "bluffs" of western maple and
poplar, and diversifi