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“Well, you’ll get wet through and catch your deaths of cold,” protested Aunt Jennie.

“No fear of it. We’ll be cased in rubber. And we’ll borrow a good tight tent from the M.P.s. Besides, I’m sure it’s not going to rain much more. I know the signs.”

“At least wait for a day or two until you’re sure that it has cleared up,” implored Aunt Jennie.

“Which being interpreted means, ‘Wait for a day or two, because then your father may be home and he’ll squelch your mad expedition,'” said Kate, with a sly glance at me. “No, no, my mother, your wiles are in vain. We’ll hit the trail tomorrow at sunrise. So just be good, darling, and help us pack up some provisions. I’ll send Jim for his father’s democrat.”

Aunt Jennie resigned herself to the inevitable and betook herself to the pantry with the air of a woman who washes her hands of the consequences. I flew upstairs to pack some finery. I was wild with delight over the proposed outing. I did not realize what it actually meant, and I had perfect confidence in Kate, who was an expert driver, an experienced camper out, and an excellent manager. If I could have seen what was ahead of us I would certainly not have been quite so jubilant and reckless, but I would have gone all the same. I would not miss the laughter-provoking memories of that trip out of my life for anything. I have always been glad I went.

* * * * *

We left at sunrise the next morning; there was a sunrise that morning, for a wonder. The sun came up in a pinky-saffron sky and promised us a fine day. Aunt Jennie bade us goodbye and, estimable woman that she was, did not trouble us with advice or forebodings.

Mr. Nash had sent over his “democrat,” a light wagon with springs; and Kate’s “shaganappies,” Tom and Jerry–native ponies, the toughest horse flesh to be found in the world–were hitched to it. Kate and I were properly accoutred for our trip and looked–but I try to forget how we looked! The memory is not flattering.

We drove off in the gayest of spirits. Our difficulties began at the start, for we had to drive a mile before we could find a place to ford the creek. Beyond that, however, we had a passable trail for three miles to the little outpost of the Mounted Police, where five or six men were stationed on detachment duty.

“Sergeant Baker is a friend of mine,” said Kate. “He’ll be only too glad to lend me all we require.”

The sergeant was a friend of Kate’s, but he looked at her as if he thought she was crazy when she told him where we were going.

“You’d better take a canoe instead of a team,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve a good notion to arrest you both as horse thieves and prevent you from going on such a mad expedition.”

“You know nothing short of arrest would stop me,” said Kate, nodding at him with laughing eyes, “and you really won’t go to such an extreme, I know. So please be nice, even if it comes hard, and lend us some things. I’ve come a-borrying.”

“I won’t lend you a thing,” declared the sergeant. “I won’t aid and abet you in any such freak as this. Go home now, like a good girl.”

“I’m not going home,” said Kate. “I’m not a ‘good girl’–I’m a wicked old maid, and I’m going to Bothwell. If you won’t lend us a tent we’ll go without–and sleep in the open–and our deaths will lie forever at your door. I’ll come back and haunt you, if you don’t lend me a tent. I’ll camp on your very threshold and you won’t be able to go out of your door without falling over my spook.”