At the top of the ravine Fothergill got off his horse, and sitting on a spruce log, studied the landscape. After the bleak high plains and boisterous winds, he thought the valley beautiful and marked by brooding calm. Dark spruce woods rolled down the hill, and at the bottom the sparkling river curved round rocky points and wooded islands. In the distance, faint blue smoke indicated St. Martin.
Fothergill thought he was lucky because the superintendent had sent him and Cartwright to the fort. Their duties were not strenuous; they must watch, and study the settlers and the neighborhood. For a mounted constable, the job was soft, but Fothergill admitted its softness did not altogether account for his satisfaction.
Lighting a cigarette, he tried to recapture a picture that had charmed him a
