So they set out together.
At length John Castro stopped.
"That is your way," he said. "I wish you a pleasant journey. I will not forget what you have done for my little son. If ever you are in trouble, send for John Castro."
"I thank you."
The Indian shook hands with him gravely, and turned back towards his cabin.
All this had taken time. Ernest had no watch with him, but he estimated that the adventure had cost him two hours. However, he had saved a boy's life.
Again, he had made a friend. The friend was an Indian, but Ernest was wise enough to consider that no friend, however humble, is to be despised.
It was clear that he would reach his destination late, and he began to wish that some carriage would overtake him in which he might ask for a ride.
But he walked two miles farther without encountering any team. At last, however, he heard the rumble of wheels, and turning round to see whether there was room in the vehicle, he saw that it was a buggy driven by a tall, thin man with dark hair, swarthy face, and a long, aquiline nose.
The driver eyed Ernest sharply and brought the buggy to a standstill.