a manner that Latour, who in his younger days long ago had been a shantyman himself, hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or on his heels.
After tea I proposed a ride out to see the sunset from the nearest rising ground. Latour, with unexampled generosity, offered his own cayuse, "Louis."
"I can't ride well," protested The Pilot.
"Ah! dat's good ponee, Louis," urged Latour. "He's quiet lak wan leetle mouse; he's ride lak—what you call?—wan horse-on-de-rock." Under which persuasion the pony was accepted.
That evening I saw the Swan Creek country with new eyes—through the luminous eyes of The Pilot. We rode up the trail by the side of the Swan till we came to the coulée mouth, dark and full of mystery.
"Come on," I said, "we must get to the top for the sunset."
He looked lingeringly into the deep shadows and asked: "Anything live down there?"
"Coyotes and wolves and ghosts."
"Ghosts?" he asked, delightedly. "Do you know, I was sure there were, and I'm quite sure I shall see them."
