Chapter 3. A Tilt With Sir Redmond

Beatrice, standing on the top of a steep, grassy slope, was engaged in the conventional pastime of enjoying the view. It was a fine view, but it was not half as good to look upon as was Beatrice herself, in her fresh white waist and brown skirt, with her brown hair fluffing softly in the breeze which would grow to a respectable wind later in the day, and with her cheeks pink from climbing.

She was up where she could see the river, a broad band of blue in the surrounding green, winding away for miles through the hills. The far bank stood a straight two hundred feet of gay-colored rock, chiseled, by time and stress of changeful weather, into fanciful turrets and towers. Above and beyond, where the green began, hundreds of moving dots told where the cattle were feeding quietly. Far away to the south, heaps of hazy blue and purple slept in the sunshine; Dick had told her those were the Highwoods. And away to the west, a jagged line of blue-white glimmered and stood upon tip-toes to touch the swimming clouds--touched them and pushed above proudly; those were the Rockies. The Bear Paws stood behind her; nearer they were--so near they lost the glamour of mysterious blue shadows, and became merely a sprawling group of huge, pine-covered hills, with ranches dotted here and there in sheltered places, with squares of fresh, dark green that spoke of growing crops.

Ten days, and the metropolitan East had faded and become as hazy and vague as the Highwoods. Ten days, and the witchery of the West leaped in her blood and held her fast in its thralldom.

A sound of scrambling behind her was immediately followed by a smothered epithet. Beatrice turned in time to see Sir Redmond pick himself up.

"These grass slopes are confounded slippery, don't you know," he explained apologetically. "How did you manage that climb?"

"I didn't." Beatrice smiled. "I came around the end, where the ascent is gradual; there's a good path."

"Oh!" Sir Redmond sat down upon a rock and puffed. "I saw you up here--and a fellow doesn't think about taking a roundabout course to reach his heart's--"

"Isn't it lovely?" Beatrice made haste to inquire.

"Lovely isn't half expressive enough," he told her. "You look--"

"The river is so very blue and dignified. I've been wondering if it has forgotten how it must have danced through those hills, away off there. When it gets down to the cities--this blue water--it will be muddy and nasty looking. The 'muddy Missouri' certainly doesn't apply here. And that farther shore is simply magnificent. I wish I might stay here forever."

"The Lord forbid!" cried he, with considerable fervor. "There's a dear nook in old England where I hope--"

"You did get that mud off your leggings, I see," Beatrice remarked