It was weeks since we had seen a
mirror larger than an inch or so across. Our clothes were wrinkled from
being used to augment our bedding on cold nights. The whites of our eyes
were bloodshot with the sun. My old felt hat was battered and torn with
the fish-hooks that had been hung round the band. Each of us looked at
the other, and prayed to Heaven that he looked a little better himself.
IX
THE ROUND-UP AT KALISPELL
Columbia Falls had heard of our adventure, and was prepared to do us
honor. Automobiles awaited us on the river-bank. In a moment we were
snatched from the jaws of the river and seated in the lap of luxury. If
this is a mixed metaphor, it is due to the excitement of the change.
With one of those swift transitions of the Northwest, we were out of the
wilderness and surrounded by great yellow fields of wheat.
Cleared land or natural prairie, these valleys of the Northwest are
marvelously fertile. Wheat grows an incredible number of bushels to the
acre. Everything thrives. And on the very borders of the fields stands
still the wilderness to be conquered, the forest to be cleared.
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