Carson of Red River by Harold Bindloss — Read

A light wind moved the poplar branches and sparkling ripples rolled across Lost Lake. Along the margin the cracked mud was white with salt; the leaves in the bluff were going yellow and cut the turquoise sky. In the distance belts of stubble reflected the sunshine and withered grass rolled back to the horizon. The lake was perhaps not beautiful, but Kit acknowledged the spacious landscape's tranquil charm.

At one time Lost Lake was a landmark for the Hudson Bay _courreurs_ steering south behind their dog-teams for the Assiniboine. Now a wagon trail went by the bluff, and, some distance off, railroad telegraph posts melted in the grass. The _courreurs_ were long since gone, and on summer holidays picnic parties from two prairie towns arrived on board noisy automobiles.