im strong enough to keep your head above water."

"You're a thoroughgoing pessimist," she smiled.

"No," he shook his head. "I merely know that it's a hard game to buck,
under normal conditions. We're of the fortunate few, that's all."

"You're not going to spoil the pleasure that's within your reach by
pondering the misfortunes of those who are less lucky, are you?" she
inquired curiously.

"Not much," he drawled. "Besides, that isn't my chief objection to
town. I simply can't endure the noise and confusion and the manifold
stinks, and the universal city attitude--which is to gouge the other
fellow before he gouges you. Too much like a dog fight. No, I haven't
any mission to remedy social and economic ills. I'm taking the
egotistic view that it doesn't concern me, that I'm perfectly justified
in enjoying myself in my own way, seeing that I'm in a position to do
so. We're going to take our fun as we find it. Just the same," he
finished thoughtfully, "I'd as soon be pulling into that ranch of ours
on the hurricane deck of a right good horse as approaching Vancouver's
water front. This isn't any place to spend money or to see anything.
It's a big, noisy, over-grown village, overrun with business exploiters
and real-estate sharks. It'll be a city some day. At present it's
still in the shambling stage of civic youth."

In so far as Hazel had observed upon her former visit, this, if a
trifle sweeping, was in the main correct. So she had no regrets when
Bill confined their stay to the time necessary to turn his gold into a
bank account, and allow her to buy a trunkful, more or less, of pretty
clothes. Then they bore on eastward and halted at Ashcroft. Bill had
refused to commit himself positively to a date for the eastern
pilgrimage. He wanted to see the cabin again. For that matter she
did, too--so that their sojourn there did not carry them over another
winter. That loomed ahead like a vague threat. Those weary months in
the Klappan Range had filled her with the subtle poison of discontent,
for which she felt that new scenes and new faces would prove the only
antidote.

"There's a wagon road to Fort George," he told her. "We could go in
there by the B. X. steamers, but I'm afraid we couldn't buy an outfit
to go on. I guess a pack outfit from the end of the stage line will be
about right."

From Ashcroft an auto stage whirled them swiftly into the heart of the
Cariboo country--to Quesnelle, where