We were, we said, paying two dollars and a half a day for
each of those horses. Besides, we were out of adhesive tape, which is
useful for holding on patches. Besides, also, we had the horses. If they
wanted them, let them come and get them. Besides, this was
discrimination. Ever since the Park was opened, horses had been taken
out of it, either on to the Reservation or into Canada, to get about to
other parts of the Park. Why should the Government pick on us?
We were very bitter and abusive, and the rest of the way I wrote
mentally a dozen sarcastic telegrams. Yes; the rest of the way. Because
we went on. With a round-up ahead and the Department of the Interior in
the rear, we rode forward to our stolen holiday, now and then pausing,
an eye back to see if we were pursued. But nothing happened; no sheriff
in a buckboard drove up with a shotgun across his knees. The Government,
or its representative in Glacier Park, was contenting itself with
foaming at the mouth. We rode on through the sunlight, and sang as we
rode.
Kalispell is a flourishing and attractive town of northwestern Montana.
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