ve the steel road down
the great canyon to bring us provisions in, dyked the swamp meadows,
ploughed up the forest, and rent the hills. We made our protest, and,
quite often, it was no more than that, for the rivers were too strong
for us, and the Bush crept back upon our little clearings. Still, we
never let go, and it's becoming evident that we have done more than
hold our own."

He paused, and laughed in a deprecatory fashion before he went on
again. "Now and then I have an outbreak of this kind," he added
lightly. "The thing would make an epic, but, if one could write it, it
wouldn't be worth while. The protest that counts in this land is made
with the axe and drill."

The outbreak was comprehensible, for it must be remembered that the
average Westerner, either by birth or adoption, is seldom a reticent
man. He is, in fact, usually characterized by a daring optimism, and
not infrequently filled to overflowing with the clean pride of
achievement. One can hear this new-world enthusiasm bubble over on
public platforms and at brilliant functions, as well as in second-rate
saloons, but it is most forcibly expressed where men toil waist-deep
in icy water building dyke and dam, or blast their waggon roads out of
the side of the gloomy canyons. Their handiwork is not always
beautiful, but one wonders to see what they have made of that great
desolation.

Nasmyth lay still among the wineberries, for a minute or two, and,
though a cold green transparency had replaced the fires of sunset
behind the tall trunks now, and the trout were splashing furiously in
the pool, he forgot all about the rod beside him as he pondered over a
question which had often occurred to him.

"How is it that Miss Waynefleet is content to stay here?" he asked.

"You would hardly expect her to leave her father."

"No," said Nasmyth. "Any way, that is scarcely an answer. What keeps
Waynefleet here? One wouldn't fancy he likes living in the Bush."

"It's a little curious that you haven't heard. Anyway, somebody is
bound to tell you. Waynefleet had to get out of the Old Country. Some
trouble about trust-money. He came out to Victoria and set up in the
land agency business, but it was his misfortune that he couldn't keep
out of politics. There are folks like that. When they can't handle
their own affairs, they're anxious to manage those of the community.
Somebody found out the story and flung it in his face. The man hadn't
the grit in him to live it