CHAPTER XLIV.
A GIRL'S MAD LEAP.
By nightfall they were encamped—or bivouacked—in a sheltered pocket, close by a clear bubbling spring. A fire was lighted, and, having eaten supper, they sat around and talked over the journey and adventures of the day.
The men smoked. The horses fed on some tender grass near at hand. Bart said:
"Do you know, Frank, I never touched a cigarette since you induced me to swear off at Fardale?"
"I am glad to hear that," said Frank. "There is nothing more hurtful than cigarettes used to excess, and one who smokes them regularly is almost certain to use them to excess, after a time."
"When you left Fardale I told you I feared I might fall back into my old ways—might become reckless and dissipated as I was before you gave me a helping hand and pulled me out. You remember it?"
"Yes."
"And do you remember that you said you were confident I would not go back—that you felt sure I had stamina of character enough not to take up with my old associates?"
"Yes."