ren! _Carpe Diem! Carpe
Diem!_ Pluck the flowers; for the days are swifter than arrows," and he
walked away from us engrossed in his own thoughts, muttering over and
over the advice of the Latin poet, "_Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem!_"

"What is _Carpe Diem_?" asked Frances Sutherland, gazing after the
priest in sheer wonder.

"I wasn't strong on classics at Laval and I haven't my crib."

"Go on!" she commanded. "You're only apologizing for my ignorance. You
know very well."

"It means just what he says--as if each day were a flower, you know, had
its joys to be plucked, that can never come again."

"Flowers! Oh! I know! The kind you all picked for me coming up from Fort
William. And do you know, Rufus, I never could thank you all? Were those
_Carpe Diem_ flowers?"

"No--not exactly the kind Father Holland means we should pick."

"What then?" and she turned suddenly to find her face not a hand's
length from mine.

"This kind," I whispered, bending in terrified joy over her shoulder;
and I plucked a blossom straight from her lips and another and yet
another, till there came into the deep, gray eyes what I cannot
transcribe, but what sent me away the king of all men--for had I not
found my Queen?

And that was the way I carried out my grand resolution and kept myself
in hand.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BUFFALO HUNT

I question if Norse heroes of the sea could boast more thrilling
adventure than the wild buffalo hunts of American plain-rangers. A
cavalcade of six hundred men mounted on mettlesome horses eager for the
furious dash through a forest of tossing buffalo-horns was quite as
imposing as any clash between warring Vikings. Squaws, children and a
horde of ragged camp-followers straggled in long lines far to the
hunters' rear. Altogether, the host behind the flag numbered not less
than two thousand souls. Like any martial column, our squad had captain,
color-bearer and chaplain. Luckily, all three were known to me, as I
discovered when I reached Pembina. The truce, patched up between
Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers after Governor McDonell's surrender, left
Cuthbert Grant free to join the buffalo hunt. Pursuing big game across
the prairie was more to his taste than leading the half-breeds during
peace. The warden of the plains came hot-foot after us, and was promptly
elected captain of the chase. Father Holland was with us too. Our course
lay directly on his way to the Missouri and a jolly chaplain he made. In