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Kate laughed.

“Don’t rub it in, Phil. Come, help me to break camp. We’ll have to work harder and hustle for ourselves, that’s all.”

“But is it safe to go on without a guide?” I inquired dubiously. I hadn’t felt very safe with Peter Crow, but I felt still more unsafe without him.

“Safe! Of course, it’s safe–perfectly safe. I know the trail, and we’ll just have to drive around the wet places. It would have been easier with Peter, and we’d have had less work to do, but we’ll get along well enough without him. I don’t think I’d have bothered with him at all, only I wanted to set Mother’s mind at rest. She’ll never know he isn’t with us till the trip is over, so that is all right. We’re going to have a glorious day. But, oh, for our lost ham! ‘The Ham That Was Never Eaten.’ There’s a subject for a poem, Phil. You write one when we get back to civilization. Methinks I can sniff the savoury odour of that lost ham on all the prairie breezes.”

“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these–it might have been,”

I quoted, beginning to wash the dishes.

“Saw ye my wee ham, saw ye my ain ham,
Saw ye my pork ham down on yon lea?
Crossed it the prairie last night in the darkness
Borne by an old and unprincipled Cree?”

sang Kate, loosening the tent ropes. Altogether, we got a great deal more fun out of that ham than if we had eaten it.

As Kate had predicted, the day was glorious. The mists rolled away and the sun shone brightly. We drove all day without stopping, save for dinner–when the lost ham figured largely in our conversation–of course. We said so many witty things about it–at least, we thought them witty–that we laughed continuously through the whole meal, which we ate with prodigious appetite.

But with all our driving we were not getting on very fast. The country was exceedingly swampy and we had to make innumerable detours.

“‘The longest way round is the shortest way to Bothwell,'” said Kate, when we drove five miles out of our way to avoid a muskeg. By evening we had driven fully twenty-five miles, but we were only ten miles nearer Bothwell than when we had broken camp in the morning.

“We’ll have to camp soon,” sighed Kate. “I believe around this bluff will be a good place. Oh, Phil, I’m tired–dead tired! My very thoughts are tired. I can’t even think anything funny about the ham. And yet we’ve got to set up the tent ourselves, and attend to the horses; and we’ll have to scrape some of the mud off this beautiful vehicle.”

“We can leave that till the morning,” I suggested.

“No, it will be too hard and dry then. Here we are–and here are two tepees of Indians also!”

There they were, right around the bluff. The inmates were standing in a group before them, looking at us as composedly as if we were not at all an unusual sight.

“I’m going to stay here anyhow,” said Kate doggedly.

“Oh, don’t,” I said in alarm. “They’re such a villainous-looking lot–so dirty–and they’ve got so little clothing on. I wouldn’t sleep a wink near them. Look at that awful old squaw with only one eye. They’d steal everything we’ve got left, Kate. Remember the ham–oh, pray remember the fate of our beautiful ham.”

“I shall never forget that ham,” said Kate wearily, “but, Phil, we can’t drive far enough to be out of their reach if they really want to steal our provisions. But I don’t believe they will. I believe they have plenty of food–Indians in tepees mostly have. The men hunt, you know. Their looks are probably the worst of them. Anyhow, you can’t judge Indians by appearances. Peter Crow looked respectable–and he was a whited sepulchre. Now, these Indians look as bad as Indians can look–so they may turn out to be angels in disguise.”