“Comin’ from th’ mountains,” mumbled Henry. “Funny time o’ night to be hittin’ th’ trail. One critter.”
He stepped lightly to the rocks about the spring and flattened himself in the shadows. The thudding continued, and presently, though he could see nothing because of the blackness cast by a cloudy sky, he knew that the animal was close. A single eye of light peered out from the nest of ashes of his waning fire, enough to convince the newcomer, if the horse bore a rider, that some one was camping at the spring. The horse did bear a rider, for no horse, even though he was an exceptional horse and gifted with speech, would have been so peremptory in his demand:
“I want to know who’s camping here. Speak out! Who’s here?”
“It’s me,” came Henry’s voice from the shadows.
“Oh, old Marblehead, eh? Are you dressed?”
“Yes’m.”
“Then step out here, please, and tell me what’s become of Doctor Shonto!”
“You’re Miss Mary Temple, ain’t you?”
“No, I’m Miss William Jennings Bryan. Come on out! What’re you hiding there for? Where’s Doctor Shonto? I want to know at once. Talk, you damned quitter!”
Henry came forth and stared at the black bulk that she made in the night. Never before had the mild Henry heard a woman use profanity. He was completely flabbergasted.