e to Mr. Lane's, so
that in running it the Prince will have the advantage of that expert's
advice. Part of the Prince's plan for handling it is to give an
opportunity to soldiers who served with him in the war to take up
positions on the ranch. Mr. Lane told me himself that the proposition
is a practical one, and there should be profitable results.

Leaving Bar U, the Prince returned to High River at that Canadian pace
of travelling which sets the timid European wondering whether his
accident policy is fully paid up. In High River, where the old
cow-puncher ideal of hitting up the dust in the wild and woolly manner
has given way to the rule of jazz dances and bright frocks, he mounted
the train and steamed off to Calgary.

In Calgary great things had been done to the Armoury where the ball was
to be held. Handled in the big manner of the Dominion, the great hall
had been re-floored with "hard wood" blocks, and a scheme of real
beauty, extending to an artificial sky in the roof, had been evolved.

At this dance the whole of Calgary seemed in attendance, either on the
floor, or outside watching the guests arrive. In Canada the scope of
the invitations is universal. There are no distinctions. The pretty
girl who serves you with shaving soap over the drug store counter asks
if she will meet you at the Prince's ball, as a matter of course. She
is going. So is the young man at the estate office. So is your taxi
chauffeur (the taxi is an open touring car). So is--everybody. These
dances are the most democratic affairs, and the most spirited. And as
spirited and democratic as anybody was the Prince himself, who, in this
case, in spite of his run before breakfast, a hard morning in the
saddle, his long tramp in the afternoon, his automobile and railway
travelling, danced with the rest into the small hours of the morning.

All the little boys in Calgary watched for his arrival. And after he
had gone in there was a fierce argument as to who had come in closest
contact with him. One little boy said that the Prince had looked
straight at him and smiled.

Another capped it:

"He shoved me on the shoulder as he went by," he cried.

The inevitable last chimed in:

"You don't make it at all," he said. "He trod on my brother's toe."

CHAPTER XVI

CHIEF MORNING STAR COMES TO BANFF AND THE ROCKIES

I

In the night the Royal train steamed the few miles from Calgary and on
the morning of Wednesday, Septem