“Then it was the light from your lanterns I saw when the young people were gathering the firewood. Didn’t you see my torch?”
Joe Bradshaw laughed while his father and brother looked sheepish. “Yes, we did see it, but Pappy and Gid ’lowed it was a harnt. At first it looked like a fire from where we were, and then it disappeared so suddenly it really was mystifying.”
“’Twas the singin’ thet fetched us,” persisted the elder Bradshaw. “We’d been expectin’ you sence before sundown, and when hit went on nine o’clock and war dark and snowy I ’lowed you war lost and we jest set out ter sarch. Thar war a passel o’ hoss thieves in these parts a leetle spell back, and we ’lowed, too, thet mebbe they’d got a holt of your beastes and left you ter foot hit. Thet’s the reason we didn’t sarch here fust thing. This has been the place ter find sech as them, and we warn’t nowise anxious ter make their ’quaintance.”
“Gid has some corn in the saddlebags for the beastes,” said Joe, “and I have something for your supper that mother sent. You must be nearly starved.”
But Talitha agreed with her teacher that it would be better to wait until morning and have a hearty meal before continuing their journey. Relieved of the necessity for watchfulness, Miss Howard was soon asleep. After talking a little longer her charges followed suit while the Bradshaws kept careful guard.
It was later than usual when the little company breakfasted the next morning. There was no finer cook in all the mountains than Mrs. Bradshaw. A large loaf of light bread and a bag of crullers were a welcome addition to the potatoes Joe had put roasting in the ashes at an early hour, and the bacon, eggs, and coffee served in true camp fashion. As they ate they could hear the melting snow dripping from the rocks. The sun was shining and sent splashes of light into the passageway. They could not be otherwise than merry, although they listened with a shiver to Martin’s account of his experience the previous night.
“It seemed as though I slipped miles—that I should never get to the foot of this awful mountain. And I could hear the old sorrel tearing along after me. Every minute I expected he’d land on top and I’d be crushed to a pulp—”
“But he didn’t,” Abner chimed in. “The old beastie is sure ’nough game. I’ve seen him slide down into the holler from Red Mountain when it was icy, and he just put his legs together stiff and slipped along as slick as—”
“You’d better ride my hoss critter the rest of the way,” Gid offered with true mountain hospitality. “I’ll lead the sorrel home and keep him ’til he’s called fer—thar’s ’nough stable room.”
Talitha felt as grateful for this proposal as Abner and Gincy could possibly have done, for she knew the animal would have the best of care and a long rest. Dan Gooch would not be able to come for him until spring opened.