Not that the glance of
Vance Cornish lurched across this bold distance. His gaze wandered as
slowly as a free buzzes across a clover field, not knowing on which
blossom to settle.
Below him, generously looped, Bear Creek tumbled out of the southeast,
and roved between noble borders of silver spruce into the shadows of the
Blue Mountains of the north, half a dozen miles across and ten long of
grazing and farm land, rich, loamy bottom land scattered with aspens.
Beyond, covering the gentle roll of the foothills, was grazing land.
Scattering lodgepole pine began in the hills, and thickened into dense
yellow-green thickets on the upper mountain slopes. And so north and
north the eye of Vance Cornish wandered and climbed until it rested on
the bald summit of Mount Discovery. It had its name out of its character,
standing boldly to the south out of the jumble of the Blue Mountains.
It was a solid unit, this Cornish ranch, fenced away with mountains,
watered by a river, pleasantly forested, and obviously predestined for
the ownership of one man. Vance Cornish, on the porch of the house, felt
like an enthroned king overlooking his dominions.
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