“Himself saddle his horse, and say, ‘I go to toe some of those marks.’ He say, ‘I see you plenty not no more, so good-bye!’ He kissed me,” she added.
“Which way did he go?”
“So!” She pointed toward the road that led out of the valley to the north.
“I’ll go after him,” said Follett.
“I’ll go with you. Saddle Dandy and Kit—and Christina will have something for you to eat; you’ve had nothing since morning.”
“I reckon I know where we’ll have to go,” said Follett, as he went for the saddles.
Chapter XLII.
The Little Bent Man at the Foot of the Cross
It was dusk when they rode down the hill together. They followed the cañon road to its meeting with the main highway at the northern edge of Amalon. Where the roads joined they passed Bishop Wright, who, with his hat off, turned to stare at them, and to pull at his fringe of whisker in seeming perplexity.
“He must have been on his way to our house,” Prudence called.
“With that hair and whiskers,” answered Follett, with some irrelevance, “he looks like an old buffalo-bull just before shedding-time.”