“We’ll wake her now, and start on. It won’t do to waste daylight any longer.” Secretly he was afraid that they might be followed by Indians, and was sorry he had made the fire in the night, but he reasoned that he could never have brought them on without such refreshment. Women are different from men. He could eat raw bacon and hard-tack and go without coffee, when necessary, but to ask women to do so was quite another thing.
For long hours now they traveled on, even after the moon had set, in the darkness. It was just before the dawn, where the trail wound and doubled on itself, that the sorrel horse was startled by a small rolling stone that had been loosened on the trail above them. Instantly the big man halted where they were.
“Are you brave enough to wait here a bit by your mother’s horse while I go on? That stone did not loosen 195 itself. It may be nothing but some little beast,––if it were a bear, the horses would have made a fuss.”
He mounted the sorrel and went forward, leaving her standing on the trail, holding the leading strap of her mother’s horse, which tossed its head and stepped about restlessly, trying to follow. She petted and soothed the animal and talked in low tones to her mother. Then with beating heart she listened. Two men’s voices came down to her––one, the big man’s––and the other––yes, she had heard it before.
“It is ’Arry King, mother. Surely he has come down to meet us,” she said joyfully. She would have hurried on, but bethought herself she would better wait as she had been directed. Soon the big man returned, looking displeased and grim.
“Young chap couldn’t wait. He gave me his promise, but he didn’t keep it.”
“It was ’Arry King?” He made no reply, and they resumed their way as before. “It was long to wait, and nothing to do,” she pleaded, divining his mood.
“I had good reasons, Miss. No matter. I sent him back. No need of him here. We’ll make it before morning now, and he will have the cabin warm and hot coffee for us, if you can stand to go on for a goodish long pull.”
A goodish long pull it surely was, in the darkness, but the women bore up with courage, and their guide led them safely. The horse Amalia rode, being his own horse, knew the way well.
“Don’t try to guide him; he’ll take you quite safely,” he called back to her. “Let the reins hang.” And in the 196 dusk of early morning they safely turned the curve where Harry King had fallen, never knowing the danger.