Dionysius Silverthorn was one of those men who can rouse themselves at any hour they fix upon. It didn’t vary much from four o’clock in the morning when he rose and rubbed his eyes. It was already growing light in the east, and there was promise of a fine day.
“I feel quite refreshed,” he said, stretching himself. “It is time I took my departure. Is there nothing else I can take?”
Some remains of the supper of the previous night had been left near the wagon, including a box of crackers.
“I will pocket a few crackers,” said Dionysius, “and keep them for lunch. I will take the liberty of breakfasting before I go. Shall I take the blankets?” he said thoughtfully. “No, they would be in my way. I wish I had a little more money—but it would be dangerous to seek for it. I will, however, take the liberty of borrowing the horse, as he will materially assist me in my journey.”
The horse had been tied to a tree. Mr. Silverthorn gently unfastened the rope and led him away. He was nervously anxious lest he should whinny or make some noise that would arouse the little party. But the horse seemed unusually docile, and, though he was probably sorry to be roused from sleep quite so early, allowed himself to be led away without any manifestation of discontent.
An hour later Tom Cooper stretched himself and opened his eyes.
“Another fine day!” he said to himself. “Well, we must make the most of it. It is high time we began to make preparations to start. Hello, Grant!” he said, shaking the boy till he murmured drowsily, “What is it, Tom?”
“Time to get up, Grant, my boy. We must be on our way by six.”
Grant jumped up, and, throwing off the blankets, began to fold them up.
“Where’s Mr. Silverthorn?” he asked, turning his eyes in the direction of the stranger’s bed.