The first few times the doctor had taken no notice, but after Chris had cantered forward four times to rein up on one side of the American, with Ned on the other, his father said dryly when he overtook him—
“There’s a good old saying that has to do with thoughtfulness, Chris. It is this: Let your head save your heels. To apply it in this case, it should be, Save your pony’s heels.”
“I don’t understand you, father,” said the boy.
“Don’t you? I only meant, the next time you want to ask about something that has been left behind, keep it in your head till you think of the next thing, and the next. You might collect half-a-dozen, and then you could go and ask them altogether. Do you see?”
“Yes, father,” said Chris, who turned rather red.
“Be patient, my boy, and you’ll have plenty of hard riding, perhaps more than you anticipate.”
There seemed to be no necessity for the precaution so near home, but the doctor said that they had better begin as they would have to go on “when in the enemy’s country,” as he put it, with a smile.
“Before long we may be where there will be risk of our animals stampeding, or being stolen. Later on, when we are in the Indians’ country, we shall have to guard against attack, so we will divide the night into watches.”
This was before settling down for the night in and about the deserted fruit-farm.
“Oh,” cried Wilton; “but surely this is being too particular. Every one is tired. We have had a very wearing day, beginning so early as we did with the packing and getting off.”