Pa asked no questions—that would not have been polite according to his idea. He seemed not to look at the tired horses or the still more weary men and women, or at the wagons with their queer load. All he said was:
“There’s a good spring of water over yon, if so be you’re wanting water; and this here bench is a good one to rest on before going on down the mountain.”
By “bench” he meant, of course, the level bit of land on the mountain side.
Jim knew that his father was simply quivering inside, just as he was himself, to know what those people were doing and what they were carrying in their wagons.
The man looked at pa and nodded.
“We’re about tuckered out,” he admitted.
“Come far?” asked pa. It hurt his pride to ask the question, but he had to do it. The man looked at pa impatiently.
“Why, we’re always on the road,” he said. “We’ve got a show here.”
A show! Jim felt something running up his spine—something that felt as cold and swift as a lizard. It was really a thrill of excitement, but Jim was afraid it was some sort of sickness. He was not used to the feeling.
The queer procession came to a stop in the McBirney clearing. There were three covered wagons, six thin horses, five men, two women, a boy and a girl. All were walking. The man to whom pa had spoken was pale, fat and tired looking, and while pa was looking him over in his quiet way the man took off his hat and wiped the moisture from his head.