"The Little Horn?"

"Yes, you know the little creek running into the Big Horn away up the
gulch where we went one day in the spring. You said there were fish
there."

"Yes, but why 'Little Horn,' pray? And who calls it so? I suppose you
know that the Big Horn gets its name from the Big Horn, the mountain
sheep that once roamed the rocks yonder, and in that sense there's no
Little Horn."

"Well, 'Little Horn' I call it," said his wife, "and shall. And if
the big stream is the Big Horn, surely the little stream should be the
Little Horn. But what about the fishing? Is it a go?"

"Well, rather! Get the grub, as your Canadian speech hath it."

"My Canadian speech!" echoed his wife scornfully. "You're just as much
Canadian as I am."

"And I shall get the ponies. Half an hour will do for me."

"And less for me," cried Mandy, dancing off to her work.

And she was right. For, clever housekeeper that she was, she stood with
her hamper packed and the fishing tackle ready long before her husband
appeared with the ponies.

The trail led steadily upward through winding valleys, but for the most
part along the Big Horn, till as it neared a scraggy pine-wood it bore