"Tell him, Billy, I want him to see my husband then."

"Sure thing! That'll catch him, I guess. He's dead stuck on his work."

And it did catch him, for, after breakfast was over, clean-shaven, calm and controlled, and in his very best professional style, Dr. Martin made his morning call on his patient. Rigidly he eliminated from his manner anything beyond a severe professional interest. Mandy, who for two years had served with him as nurse, and who thought she knew his every mood, was much perplexed. Do what she could, she was unable to break through the barrier of his professional reserve. He was kindly courteous and perfectly correct.

"I would suggest a quiet day for him, Mrs. Cameron," was his verdict after examining the patient. "He will be quite able to get up in the afternoon and go about, but not to set off on a hundred and fifty mile drive. A quiet day, sleep, cheerful company, such as you can furnish here, will fix him up."

"Doctor, we will secure the quiet day if you will furnish the cheerful company," said Mandy, beaming on him.

"I have a very busy day before me, and as for cheerful company, with you two ladies he will have all the company that is good for him."

"CHEERFUL company, you said, Doctor. If you desert us how can we be cheerful?"

"Exactly for that reason," replied the doctor.

"Say, Martin," interposed Cameron, "take them out for a drive this afternoon and leave me in peace."

"A drive!" cried Mandy, "with one hundred and fifty miles behind me and another hundred and fifty miles before me!"

"A ride then," said Cameron. "Moira, you used to be fond of riding."

"And am still," cried the girl, with sparkling eyes.

"A ride!" cried Mandy. "Great! This is the country for riding. But have you a habit?"

"My habit is in one of my boxes," replied Moira.

"I can get a habit," said the doctor, "and two of them."

"That's settled, then," cried Mandy. "I am not very keen. We shall do some shopping, Allan, you and I this afternoon and you two can go off to the hills. The hills! th--ink of that, Moira, for a highlander!" She glanced at Moira's face and read refusal there. "But I insist you must go. A whole week in an awful stuffy train. This is the very thing for you."

"Yes, the very thing, Moira," cried her brother. "We will have a long talk this morning then in the afternoon we will do some business here, Mandy and I, and you can go up the Bow."

"The Bow?"

"The Bow River. A glorious ride. Nothing like it even in Scotland, and that's saying a good deal," said her brother with emphasis.

This arrangement appeared to give complete satisfaction to all parties except those most immediately interested, but there seemed to be no very sufficient reason with either to decline, hence they agreed.

CHAPTER IX

THE RIDE UP THE BOW

Having once agreed to the proposal of a ride up the Bow, the doctor lost no time in making the necessary preparations. Half an hour later he found himself in the stable consulting with Billy. His mood was gloomy and his language reflected his mood. Gladly would he have escaped what to him, he felt, would be a trying and prolonged ordeal. But he could not do this without exciting the surprise of his friends and possibly wounding the sensitive girl whom he would gladly give his life to serve.

He resolved that at all costs he would go through with the thing.

"I'll give her a good time, by Jingo! if I bust something," he muttered as he walked up and down the stable picking out his mounts. "But for a compound, double-opposed, self-adjusting jacka.s.s, I'm your choice. Lost my first chance. Threw it clean away and queered myself with her first shot. I say, Billy," he called, "come here."

"What's up, Doc?" said Billy.

"Kick me, Billy," said the doctor solemnly.

"Well now, Doc, I--"

"Kick me, Billy, good and swift."

"Don't believe I could give no satisfaction, Doc. But there's that Hiram mule, he's a high cla.s.s artist. You might back up to him."

"No use being kicked, Billy, by something that wouldn't appreciate it,"

said Martin.

"Don't guess that way, Doc. He's an ornery cuss, he'd appreciate it all right, that old mule. But Doc, what's eatin' you?"

"Oh, nothing, Billy, except that I'm an a.s.s, an infernal a.s.s."

"An a.s.s, eh? Then I guess I couldn't give you no satisfaction. You better try that mule."

"Well, Billy, the horses at two," said the doctor briskly, "the broncho and that dandy little pinto."

"All serene, Doc. Hope you'll have a good time. Brace up, Doc, it's comin' to you." Billy's wink conveyed infinitely more than his words.

"Look here, Billy, you cut that all out," said the doctor.

"All right, Doc, if that's the way you feel. You'll see no monkey-work on me. I'll make a preacher look like a sideshow."

And truly Billy's manner was irreproachable as he stood with the ponies at the hotel door and helped their riders to mount. There was an almost sad gravity in his demeanor that suggested a mind preoccupied with solemn and unworldly thoughts with which the doctor and his affairs had not even the remotest a.s.sociation.

As Cameron who, with his wife, watched their departure from the balcony above, waved them farewell, he cried, "Keep your eyes skinned for an Indian, Martin. Bring him in if you find him."

"I've got no gun on me," replied the doctor, "and if I get sight of him, you hear me, I'll make for the timber quick. No heroic captures for me this trip."

"What is all this about the Indian, Dr. Martin?" inquired the girl at his side as they cantered down the street.

"Didn't your brother tell you?"

"No."

"Well, I've done enough to you with that Indian already to-day."

"To me?"

"Didn't I like a fool frighten you nearly to death with him?"

"Well, I was startled. I was silly to show it. But an Indian to an Old Country person familiar with Fenimore Cooper, well--"