“I don’t understand you; explain yourself.”
“There ain’t one of you three that knows the way through the mountains, and if you undertook it alone, it would take you three months to reach Sacramento.”
This was a new and striking view of the situation, but the parson said:
“Each of us has been over it before.”
“Sartinly, but one trip nor half a dozen ain’t enough. You lost your way the first hour in Dead Man’s Gulch; if you hadn’t done so, it would have took me a blamed sight longer to find you; there are half a dozen other places in the mountains ten times worse than the one 185 where you flew the track. Howsumever, if you don’t want me, I’ll go back.”
And Vose Adams, as if his dignity had received a mortal hurt, began turning his mule around.
“Hold on,” interposed Captain Dawson; “you have put things in their true light; we are very glad to have you with us.”
“That makes it all right,” was the cheery response of the good natured Vose; “I never like to push myself where I ain’t wanted, but as you seem glad to see me, after having the thing explained, we won’t say nothing more about it. Howsumever, I may add that I obsarved you started in such a hurry that I thought it warn’t likely you fetched any vittles with you, so I made up a lunch and brought it with me, being as you may not always have time to spare to shoot game.”
The chilliness of Vose Adams’ greeting changed to the warmest welcome. He had shown more thoughtfulness than any of them, and his knowledge of the perilous route through the mountains was beyond value. Indeed, it looked as if it was to prove the deciding factor in the problem.
“Do you know our business, Vose?” asked the captain.