“Now if it weren’t for the poor beasts, I’d lie down here by the fire and sleep rather than take a step farther to-night. To-night? Why––it’s morning! Isn’t it? I never thought we were so near the end. If I hadn’t seen the fire a long way down, I would have risked another bivouac for the rest of the night. We might have lived through it––I don’t know, but this is better.” He rubbed the nose of his panting horse. “I shall drop to sleep if we don’t move on.”
A thin blue smoke was rising from the chimney as they passed the cabin, but Amalia, kneeling before the hearth, 287 did not know they were near. Harry wondered if Larry had forgotten the mother’s hallucination about her husband, yet forbore to mention it, thinking it best to get him into his bunk first. But he had not forgotten. When Harry came into the shed after stabling the horses, he found Larry sitting before the chimney fire warming his knees and smoking.
“Give me a little more of that coffee, Harry, and let’s talk a bit before I turn in for the day. There’s the mother, now; she still thinks as she did? I’ll not see them until this evening––when I may feel able to meet the question, and, lad, tell them what you please, but––better not let the mother know I’m here until I can see her.”
“Then, if you’ll go to bed now, I’ll bring your food up. I’ll tell Amalia, of course.”
“I’m not hungry––only weary. Don’t bother the women about food. After a day and night of sleep I’ll be quite fit again. Man! But it’s good to be back into the peace of the hills! I’ve been down where the waves of civilization roar. Yes, yes; I’ll go to my bunk after a bit. The great menace to our tranquillity here for the winter is the mother.”
“But she has improved.”
“Good, good. How?”
“She thinks of things around her––and––takes care of the cabin since Amalia’s hurt.”
“Hurt? How’s that?”
“She sprained her ankle––only, but enough to lay her up for a while.”