Drawing rein before the door, young Barclay threw himself from the saddle.
“Well, Eph,” said he, as he tied his mount to a post, “I suppose you all but gave up hope of me.”
Eph Taylor had a long, droll looking face, and as he shook his head he twisted his countenance into an expression of comic denial.
“No,” said he. “I reckoned you’d be along some time soon. This thing of ours was too important to let go by.”
He rammed a greased cloth down the barrel of the rifle, and twisting it about, withdrew it once more.
“I saw Sandy,” added he.
At this Noll Barclay was all eagerness.
“Did you!” exclaimed he. “And what did he say?”
“Suppose I let him speak for himself,” said Eph, with the same comical twist to his long face. “He came over this afternoon to talk things over with us. Ho! Sandy! Can you come here for a little?”
A short, tow-haired youth appeared at the door of the cabin; he carried a halter in one hand and a brad-awl in the other. He nodded to Oliver good-humoredly.