the ready-made speech, with which I had hoped to silence him,
clean out of my head. Frances Sutherland took to examining remote
objects on the horizon. Hers was a nature not to be beaten.

"Let us ride faster," she suddenly proposed with a glance that boded
roguery for the priest's portly form. She was off like a shaft from a
bow-string, causing a stampede of our horses. That was effective. A hard
gallop against a stiff prairie wind will stop a stout man's eloquence.

"Ho youngsters!" exclaimed the priest, coming abreast of us as we reined
up behind the scouts. "If ye set me that gait--whew--I'll not be left
for Gretna Green--Faith--it's Pembina, I mean," and he puffed like a
cargo boat doing itself proud among the great liners.

He was breathless, therefore safe. Frances Sutherland was not disposed
to break the accumulating silence, and I, for the life of me, could not
think of a single remark appropriate for a party of three. The ordinary
commonplaces, that stop-gap conversation, refused to come forth. I
rehearsed a multitude of impossible speeches; but they stuck behind
sealed lips.

"Silence is getting heavy, Rufus," he observed, enjoying our
embarrassment.

Thus we jogged forward for a mile or more.

"Troth, me pet lambs," he remarked, as breath returned, "ye'll both
bleat better without me!"

Forthwith, away he rode fifty yards ahead, keeping that distance beyond
us for the rest of the day and only calling over his shoulder
occasionally.

"Och! But y'r bronchos are slow! Don't be telling me y'r bronchos are
not slow! Arrah, me hearties, be making good use o' the honeymoon,--I
mean afternoon, not honeymoon. Marry, me children, but y'r bronchos are
bog-spavined and spring-halted. Jiggle-joggle faster, with ye, ye
rascals! Faith, I see ye out o' the tail o' my eye. Those bronchos are
nosing a bit too close, I'm thinkin'! I'm going to turn! I warn ye
fair--ready! One--shy-off there! Two--have a care! Three--I'm coming!
Four--prepare!"

And he would glance back with shouts of droll laughter. "Get epp! We
mustn't disturb them! Get epp!" This to his own horse and off he would
go, humming some ditty to the lazy hobble of his nag.

"Old angel!" said I, under my breath, and I fell to wondering what
earthly reason any man had for becoming a priest.

He was right. Talk no longer lagged, whatever our bronchos did; but,
indeed, all we said was better heard by two than three. Why that was, I
cannot tell, for like b