He was too busy to talk, and Hazel sat beside
the fire, watching in silence. When he had tucked up the last rope
end, he turned to her.
"There," he said; "we're ready to hit the trail. Can you ride?"
"I don't know," Hazel answered dubiously. "I never have ridden a
horse."
"My, my!" he smiled. "Your education has been sadly neglected--and you
a schoolma'am, too!"
"My walking education hasn't been neglected," Hazel retorted. "I don't
need to ride, thank you."
"Yes, and stub your toe and fall down every ten feet," Bill observed.
"No, Miss Weir, your first lesson in horsemanship is now due--if you
aren't afraid of horses."
"I'm not afraid of horses at all," Hazel declared. "But I don't think
it's a very good place to take riding lessons. I can just as well
walk, for I'm not in the least afraid." And then she added as an
afterthought: "How do you happen to know my name?"
"In the same way that you know mine," Bill replied, "even if you
haven't mentioned it yet. Lord bless you, do you suppose Cariboo
Meadows could import a lady school-teacher from the civilized East
without everybody in fifty miles knowing who she was, and where she
came from, and what she looked like? You furnished them a subject for
conversation and speculation--the same as I do when I drop in there and
whoop it up for a while.
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