It was a glorious day, sunny and clear, with the temperature sufficiently
low to prevent the hard-packed snow from balling up the horses' feet.
The trail ran fairly level along a lower shelf of the timber-lined
foothills, which on their right hand sloped gradually to the banks of the
Bow River in a series of rolling "downs." Sharply outlined against the
blue ether the Sou' Western chain of the mighty "Rockies" reared their
rosily-white peaks in all their morning glory--silent guardians of the
winter landscape.

Deep down in his soul young Redmond harboured a silent, dreamy adoration
for the beauty of such scenes as this. Under different conditions he
would have enjoyed this ride immensely. But now--with his mind a
seething bitter chaos consequent upon his companion's incomprehensible
behavior towards him, he rode in a sort of brooding reverie. Yorke was
equally morose. Not a word had fallen from their lips since they left
the detachment.

Right under the horses' noses a big white jack-rabbit suddenly darted
across the snow-banked ruts of the well-worn trail, pursuing its leaping
erratic course towards a patch of brush on the river side.
Simultaneously the animals shied, with an inward trend, cannoning their
respective riders together. Yorke reined away sharply and glared.

"Get over'" he said curtly, "don't crowd me!"

He spoke as a Cossack hetman might to his sotnia, and, at his tone and
attitude, something snapped within Redmond. To his already overflowing
cup of resentment it was the last straw. His promise to Slavin he flung
to the winds, and it was replaced with vindictive but cool purpose.