Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds upon the Western
prairie, and there floated through the evening air the sound of a child's
voice singing beneath the trees that fringed the river:
"Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and blightin',
Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the scars of
fightin';
Here's the luck o' Heaven to you,
Here's the hand of love will brew you
The cup of peace-ah, darlin', will you come back home?"
WATCHING THE RISE OF ORION
"In all the wide border his steed was the best," and the name and fame of
Terence O'Ryan were known from Strathcona to Qu'appelle. He had ambition
of several kinds, and he had the virtue of not caring who knew of it. He
had no guile, and little money; but never a day's work was too hard for
him, and he took bad luck, when it came, with a jerk of the shoulder and
a good-natured surprise on his clean-shaven face that suited well his
wide grey eyes and large, luxurious mouth. He had an estate, half ranch,
half farm, with a French Canadian manager named Vigon, an old prospector
who viewed every foot of land in the world with the eye of the
discoverer.
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