The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 4

glory of the Cambridge sporting
youth, and which even yet could test his son's mettle in a fast bout.
On the sandy shore of the river below the eddy, they found the
American and his party gathered, with their stuff ranged about them
ready for the canoes.

"Ah, here you are, sir," said the American, advancing hat in hand. "And
this is your son, the young rascal who came mighty near giving me
heart failure this morning. By the way, I haven't the pleasure of
knowing your name."
"My name is Richard Dunbar, and this is my son Barry."
"My name is Osborne Howland, of Pittsburgh, and this is my daughter
Paula. In bloomers, as you see, but nevertheless my daughter. Meet
also my friend and partner, Mr. Cornwall Brand."
The party exchanged greetings, and spent some moments giving
utterance to those platitudes which are so useful in such circumstances,
a sort of mental marking time preparatory to further mutual
acquaintance.
The girl possessed that striking, dashing kind of brunette beauty that
goes with good health, good living, and abundance of outdoor exercise.
She carried herself with that air of assured self-confidence that comes
as the result of a somewhat wide experience of men, women and things.
She quite evidently scorned the conventions, as her garb, being quite
masculine, her speech being outspoken and decorated with the newest
and most ingenious slang, her whole manner being frankly impulsive,
loudly proclaimed.
But Barry liked her at once, and made no pretence of concealing his
liking. To her father, also, he was immediately drawn. As to Cornwall
Brand, between whom and the girl there seemed to exist a sort of
understanding, he was not so sure.
For half an hour or so they stood by the river exchanging their
experiences in these northern wilds, and their views upon life in the
wilderness and upon things in general. By a little skilful managing the
girl got the young man away from the others, and then proceeded to
dissect and classify him.
Through the open woods along the river bank they wandered, pausing
here and there to admire the view, until they came to an overhanging

bank at the entrance to a somewhat deep gorge, through which the river
foamed to the boiling rapids below. It was indeed a beautiful scene.
The banks of the river were covered with every variety of shrub and
tree, except where the black rocks broke through; between the banks
the dark river raged and fretted itself into a foam against its rocky
barriers; over them arched the sky, a perfect blue.
"What a lovely view!" exclaimed the girl, seating herself upon the edge
of the bank. "Now," she said, "tell me about yourself. You gave my
pater a fearful fright this morning. He was quite paralysed when I came
on him."
"I am very sorry," said the youth, "but I had no intention--"
"I know. I told him not to worry," replied the girl. "I knew you would
be all right."
"And how, pray?" said the young man, blushing at the memory of his
startling appearance upon that rock.
"I knew that any fellow who could take that dive wouldn't likely let
himself drown. I guessed, too, that if you heard me hoot--"
"I did," said the youth.
"You sure would get slippy right away."
"I did."
"I guess you were pretty well startled yourself, weren't you?" said the
girl, pursuing the subject with cool persistence.
"Rather," said the young man, blushing more violently, and wishing she
would change the subject. "You are going out?" he enquired.
"Yes."
"To-day?"

"Now--right away."
"Too bad," he said, his disappointment evident in his tone.
"When are you going out? But who are you, anyway?" asked the girl.
"You have to tell me that."
"My life story, so to speak?"
She nodded.
"It's very short and simple, like the annals of the poor," he replied.
"From England in infancy, on a ranch in northern Alberta for ten years,
a puny little wretch I was, terribly bothered with asthma, then"--the boy
hesitated a moment--"my mother died, father moved to Edmonton,
lived there for five years, thence to Wapiti, away northwest of
Edmonton, our present home, prepared for college by my father,
university course in Winnipeg, graduated in theology a year ago, now
the missionary in charge of Wapiti and the surrounding district."
"A preacher!" said the girl, her face and her tone showing her
disappointment only too plainly.
"Not much of a preacher, I fear," said the young man with a smile. "A
missionary, rather. That's my story."
She noticed with some chagrin that he did not ask for hers.
"What are you doing here?" she enquired.
He hesitated a moment or two.
"Dad and I always take a trip into the wilds every summer." Then