of thrift rather than of sanitation; but over all, and in the
end overpowering all, were the sweet, pervading odour of the new-sawn
boards and the exquisite aroma of the different fragrant gums--of pine,
cedar, or fir--which memory will acknowledge as the incense to conjure
up again in vivid actuality these early days of Links.

* * * * *

It was on a sunny afternoon late in the summer of 1866 that a little
knot of loafers and hangers-on of the hotels gathered in the yard of the
town's larger hostelry and watched Bill Kenna show an admiring world how
to ride a wild, unbroken three-year-old horse. It was not a very bad
horse, and Bill was too big to be a wonderful rider, but still he stayed
on, and presently subdued the wild thing to his will, amid the brief,
rough, but complimentary remarks of the crowd.

One of the most rapt of the onlookers was a rosy-cheeked, tow-topped boy
of attractive appearance--Jim; who though only eight years old, was
blessed with all the assurance of twenty-eight. Noisy and forward,
offering suggestions and opinions at the pitch of his piping voice, he
shrieked orders to every one with all the authority of a young lord; as
in some sense he was, for he was the only son of "Widdy" Hartigan, the
young and comely owner and manager of the hotel.

"There, now, Jim. Could ye do that?" said one of the bystanders,
banteringly.

"I couldn't ride that 'un, cause me legs ain't long enough to lap round;
but I bet I could ride _that_ 'un," and he pointed to a little foal
gazing at them from beside its dam.

"All right, let him try," said several.

"And have his brains kicked out," said a more temperate onlooker.

"Divil a bit," said big Bill, the owner of the colt. "That's the kindest
little thing that ever was born to look through a collar," and he
demonstrated the fact by going over and putting his arms around the
young thing's gentle neck.

"Here, you; give me a leg up," shouted Jimmy, and in a moment he was
astride the four-month colt.

In a yard, under normal kindly conditions, a colt may be the gentlest
thing in the world, but when suddenly there descends upon its back a
wild animal that clings with exasperating pertinacity, there is usually
but one result. The colt plunged wildly, shaking its head and
instinctively putting in practice all the ancient tricks that its kind
had learned in fighting the leopard or the wolf of the ancestral wild
horse ranges.

B