The Coming Of Saska

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WHEN I TOLD FATHER Adams we were planning another trip to the Rockies – to do some more riding, I said, and look for the grizzlies we’d missed last time, and if possible see something of the wolves – he looked at me as if I needed certifying.

He usually does look at me like that, of course. Charles and I have lived along the lane from him for more than eighteen years now, but in his eyes we are still essentially townsfolk and therefore dim beyond redemption when it comes to the commonsense matters of life.

This time, however, he regarded me even more old-fashionedly than usual. ‘Hassn’t thee got enough wild animals round here?’ he said. And then, in a voice deep with concern because really he is rather fond of us, ‘Thee’st want to watch thee dussn’t get et.’

I knew what he was thinking of. For one thing the previous week, when we’d been bringing down logs from our two 5

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