Beyond this belt of timber lay the Ruthenian Colony but newly placed.

The first intimation of the proximity of this colony came in quite an unexpected way.
Swinging down a sharp hill through a bluff, the bronchos came upon a man with a yoke of oxen hauling a load of hay.

Before their course could be checked the ponies had pitched heavily into the slow moving and terrified oxen, and so disconcerted them that they swerved from the trail and upset the load.

Immediately there rose a volley of shrill execrations in the Galician tongue.
"Whoa, buck! Steady there!" cried Jack French cheerily as he steered his team past the wreck.

"Too bad that, we must go back and help to repair damages." He tied the bronchos securely to a tree and went back to offer aid.
The Galician, a heavily-built man, was standing on the trail with a stout stake in his hand, viewing the ruins of his load and expressing his emotions in voluble Galician profanity with a bad mixture of halting and broken English.