The Old House at Home.
The little mule-train, very lightly laden, and with harness, pack-saddles, and loads looking ragged, patched, sun-bleached, and repaired in every conceivable way, moved slowly along through the rich greenery, led and followed by its sun-tanned escort, three before and three behind. The ponies looked in admirable condition save that a change of diet seemed necessary to do away with a swollen-out aspect due to constant feeding upon green-stuff instead of corn. But the saddles and bridles were as bad as those of the mules, though every bit and buckle glistened in the sunshine through constant rubbing with sand. The less said about the patched garments of the escort the better.
But there were no rags. Patches of divers materials, principally furry skins, were plentiful, and the moccasins which had taken the place of boots were either Indian and very neat, or home-made and quite the reverse.
But here too there was something worthy of remark—each man’s weapons were admirably cared for and ready for instant use, while the occupants of the saddles, though horribly dilapidated in the way of clothes, were also in that grand state of vigorous health which also made them appear ready for immediate use in any way, from hunting or shooting to obtain the day’s provision, to fighting for dear life against the enemies of the white men who roamed the plains.
Not that these six wanderers could fairly be called white, for the sun had burned them to a dull brick-red; but the term men is advisedly used, for though when the party last passed that way, going in the opposite direction, they were made up of four hale vigorous men and two boys, the latter had been left in the desert lands through which they had been wandering for two years—left, that is to say, by degrees, every bit that had been boyish having physically died out, for its place to be taken by something more manly, till on this particular day they rode back with their feet much nearer the ground and their sturdy mustangs appearing stunted, though quite well able to carry a far heavier load than had been in the habit of climbing into the saddles when they started from the plantations at the above-named distance of time.
It was only about a couple of hours before, when the party left the shelter of a patch of great spruce-firs where they had camped for the night, that the doctor had made a remark to Bourne, and then both had stared hard at Chris and Ned, a proceeding which brought the blood into the young men’s faces and made Chris ask what they are to laugh at.
“You,” said the doctor. “Why, when we rode away on our search you looked a mere boy; you are coming back to the old home both of you men grown, if you weren’t so lathy and thin.”
“Nobody will know them, eh, Wilton?”
“That’s for certain. They will grin at you.”
“I wouldn’t advise them to,” said Griggs slowly. “Chris has grown very hot and peppery, and Ned here has done so much fighting that he always seems to be, as the Irish say, spoiling for another go in. So they’d better not laugh, for we want to settle down again as friends.”