At last “Lord” Bill broke the silence which had fallen upon the room after the girl’s unanswered question.  His remark seemed irrevelant and inconsequent.

“There’s a horse on the other side of the muskeg.  Who’s is it?”

Jacky was at his side in an instant.  So suddenly had she bounded from the table, that her companion turned, with that lazy glance of his, and looked keenly at her.  He failed to understand her excitement.  She had snatched up a pair of field-glasses and had already leveled them at the distant object.

She looked long and earnestly across the miry waste.  Then she turned to her companion with a strange look in her beautiful gray eyes.

“Bill, I’ve seen that horse before.  Four days ago.  I’ve looked for it ever since, but couldn’t see it.  I’m going to round it up.”

“Eh?  How?”

Bill was looking out across the muskeg again.

“Guess I’m going right across there this evening,” the girl said quietly.

“Across the muskeg?” Her companion was roused out of himself.  His usually lazy gray eyes were gleaming brightly.  “Impossible!”

“Not at all, Bill,” she replied, with an easy smile.  “I know the path.”

“But I thought there was only one man who ever knew that mythical path, and—­he is dead.”

“Quite right, Bill—­only one man.”

“Then the old stories—­”

There was a peculiar expression on the man’s face.  The girl interrupted him with a gay laugh.

“Bother the ‘old stories.’  I’m going across there this evening after tea—­coming?”

Bunning-Ford looked across at the clock—­the hands pointed to half-past one.  He was silent for a minute.  Then he said,—­

“I’ll be with you at four if—­if you’ll tell me all about—­”

“Peter Retief—­yes, I’ll tell you as we go, Bill.  What are you going to do until then?”

“I’m going down to the saloon to meet ‘Pickles,’ your pet aversion, Pedro Mancha, and we’re going to find a fourth.”

“Ah, poker?”

“Yes, poker.”

“I’m sorry, Bill.  But be here at four sharp and I’ll tell you all about it.  See here, boy, ‘mum’s’ the word.”

The craving of the Hon. Bunning-Ford’s life was excitement.  His temperament bordered on the lethargic.  He felt that unless he could obtain excitement life was utterly unbearable.  He had sought it all over the world before he had adopted the life of a rancher.  Here in the West of Canada he had found something of what he sought.  There was the big game shooting in the mountains, and the pursuit of the “grizzly” is the most wildly enthralling chase in the world.  There was the taming and “breaking” of the wild and furious “broncho”—­the most exemplary “bucking” horse in the world.  There was the “round-up” and handling of cattle which never failed to give unlimited excitement.  And then, at all times, was the inevitable poker, that king of all excitements among card games.  The West of Canada had pleased “Lord” Bill as did no other country, and so he had invested the remains of his younger son’s portion in stock.