Mrs. Conrad gladly availed herself of Scott’s ready arm. “What did Henry do?” she said. By this time, Scott was loosing the horses from the harness and Hard had hobbled over to the edge of the road, where he sat down.
“It’s my bad knee,” he explained. “I did this once, only much worse, playing football in college. Fell, you know, with it doubled under me. I was laid up for six months.”
“Oh, Henry!”
“Oh, I shan’t be this time. It always lames me for a few hours, though, when I do anything to it. Knees are great chaps for bearing malice.”
“Well, you certainly shan’t walk to Athens,” said Polly, with decision. “You must ride one horse and Mrs. Conrad the other, while Mr. Scott and I walk. I’d love to!”
“Dear child, you couldn’t,” exclaimed Clara. “Could you ride, Henry, do you think? You and Polly could ride to Athens and send somebody back for us with the other wagon.”
“I could,” said Hard, “but I’d rather not. I’d like to rest it for a couple of hours if I could. Scott, suppose you walk and let them ride and leave me here. There’s a shady-looking spot over in those cottonwoods and I’ll just rest there till I’m able to hobble back to the Soria place. You can send for me there.”
“There’s a trail just above here that goes over and strikes the one we came on about eight miles from Athens,” said Scott, doubtfully. “I’ve never traveled it, but Gomez told me about it last year. Rough, he said, but navigable. I guess that’s what we’d better do, Hard, leave you here and I’ll walk.”
“How far is it?” asked Mrs. Conrad.
“Oh, twenty miles, maybe. It cuts off a good deal.”