Private Chadwick kept up his complaints for some time, but they failed to disturb the serenity of the captain, who urged his horse forward through the mist, closely followed by his companion. They finally left the valley, passed over the foothills, and began the ascent of Sugar Mountain. Here their journey became less disagreeable. The road, winding and twisting around the mountain, had been cut through a dense growth of trees, and these proved to be something of a shelter. Moreover, the road sometimes brought the mountain between the travelers and the wind, and these were such comfortable intervals that Mr. Chadwick ceased his complaints and rode along good-humoredly.
The two horsemen had gone about a mile, measuring the mountain road, though they were not more than a quarter of a mile from the foot, when they came suddenly on an old man sitting in a sheltered place by the side of the road. They came on the stranger so suddenly that their horses betrayed alarm, and it was all they could do to keep the animals from slipping and rolling into the gorge at their left. The old man was dressed in a suit of gray jeans, and wore a wool hat, which, although it showed the signs of constant use, had somehow managed to retain its original shape. His head was large and covered with a profusion of iron-gray hair, which was neatly combed. His face was round, but the lines of character obliterated all suggestions of chubbiness. The full beard that he wore failed to hide evidences of firmness and determination; but around his mouth a serene smile lingered, and humor sparkled in his small brown eyes.
“Howdy, boys, howdy!” he exclaimed. “Tired as they look to be, you er straddlin’ right peart creeturs. A flirt or two more an’ they’d ’a’ flung you down the hill, an’ ’a’ follered along atter you, headstall an’ stirrup. They done like they weren’t expectin’ company in an’ around here.”
The sonorous voice and deliberate utterance of the old man bespoke his calling. He was evidently a minister of the gospel. This gave a clew to Captain Moseley’s memory.
“This must be Uncle Billy Powers,” said the captain. “I have heard you preach many a time when I was a boy.”
“That’s my name,” said Uncle Billy; “an’ in my feeble way I’ve been a-preachin’ the Word as it was given to me forty year, lackin’ one. Ef I ever saw you, the circumstance has slipped from me.”
“My name is Moseley,” said the captain.
“I useter know Jeremiah Moseley in my younger days,” said Uncle Billy, gazing reflectively at the piece of pine bark he was whittling. “Yes, yes! I knowed Brother Moseley well. He was a God-fearin’ man.”
“He was my father,” said the captain.