"Have to ask missis frog about that, son. Better shack along and get home ahead of the storm. See that lightnin' scootin' along up there among the hills; ain't it purty? Be blowin' rain in our faces if we don't hurry." Lark twitched the reins and the horse swung back to the trail that dipped down into a green fold of the encircling hills, shutting off their view of everything save the ink-black clouds with greenish-brown lights here and there that were swiftly blotting out the blue above their heads.
"Tired?" Lark bent his head to look into the flushed face of the youngster.
The boy shook his head, not wanting to confess. He wriggled one arm loose and wiped the dusty beads of perspiration from cheeks and brow, glancing up anxiously into Lark's eyes.
"They—can't find me here, can they?" He looked at the rock walls on either side with a certain satisfaction in their solid gray, as if they were put there for his especial protection.
"No," said Lark grimly. "They'll never git yuh away from here, son."
The boy heaved a great sigh and looked at the storm and the narrow pass and down at the twitching ears of the horse. The hard muscles of Lark's left arm pressed him close. He sighed again and drooped a bit in the embrace. It had been a long, hard ride that lasted through the night and half of the day, and, deny it as he would, he was tired to the middle of his bones.
At the foot of the steep, narrow pass the horse broke into a shambling trot, and once he whinnied eagerly. They brought up in a grassless, hard-packed space between two corrals, and Lark loosened his hold and swung stiffly from the saddle. His face was drawn and his eyes sunken as if he too were very tired.
"Well, here we are, son." He grinned and pulled the boy out of the saddle, setting him on his feet at a safe distance from the horse.
The boy's feet were like wooden clubs. He sat down with unexpected abruptness in the dirt. Over by the corral a man laughed.
"Still dragging in slick-ears; where did you find this one, Lark?"