"Here's water," called Lieutenant Wingate, who was in the lead.
"Washington!" called Grace. "What is this stream?"
"Ah reckons it am watah," answered the colored boy, which brought a laugh from the Overlanders.
"Laundry must have been 'con-centrating,'" observed Anne Nesbit.
"This may be Spring Brook," called Miss Briggs. "We shall have to take for granted that it is."
"I think it is," answered Grace as they rode out into a fairly open space and discovered the cut in the mountains through which the stream was flowing.
The ponies already were showing their eagerness to wade into the water and drink, and Grace had just headed her mount towards the stream when she brought him up with a sharp tug on the bridle-rein.
Just ahead of her stood a tall, gaunt mountaineer leaning on his rifle. The expression on his face was not one of welcome, but Grace Harlowe saw fit to ignore that.
"Howdy, stranger," she greeted, smiling down at the man.
"Howdy," grunted the man, as they regarded each other appraisingly.