Strapped behind him was a substantial lunch, and his keen appetite would have made it enjoyable, but he did not disturb it. It could wait until he learned the truth about the folk at home, which he was now rapidly drawing near.
Over a swell in the prairie, across a small creek, whose icy waters hardly came above Jack's fetlocks, up a second rise, and then Brinton Kingsland uttered an exclamation of amazement and sharply checked his animal.
"My gracious! what is the meaning of that?"
Over another swell, and only a few hundred yards away, two other horses rode to view, coming directly toward him. Each sustained a heavily muffled figure, and they were moving at a rapid walk.
Suspecting their identity, he waited a minute, and then started his horse forward again. A few paces, and despite the arctic temperature, he raised his cap from his head and called out—
"Hurrah! thank Heaven, you are alive, and have started for the agency."
His father sat on one horse, swathed in heavy clothing, and a blanket which the faithful wife had fastened around his emaciated and weak form, while she, with Edith in front, and both also protected against the severe weather, were on the other animal. He had a rifle across his saddle front, like the son, and they had brought with them nothing but a small amount of food, barely enough to last them until they could reach the agency, provided there was no unexpected delay on the road.
The discovery that they were alive and secure for the time, though the shadow of a great peril was over all, so delighted the son that he could not repress the shout of joy, as he rode forward and greeted them, little more than their eyes and noses showing through the thick coverings.
"What made you leave before I got back?" was the first inquiry of Brinton, after a few congratulatory words.
"We concluded it was high time to do so," replied the father, showing more vigour in his voice than the son expected.