“Did he start home by this trail?” asked Ruth eagerly. “Or did he go on up country?”
“He went on up country.”
Ruth headed Brom Bones up the trail again without a word.
“But stay!” the old man yelled after her, when she had gone twenty yards. “He came back again.”
Ruth pulled around so sharply that she nearly threw Brom Bones to his knees.
“Didn’t ask me that,” the old man chortled, as she came back, “but if I didn’t tell you I reckon you’d run that colt to death up the hills.”
“Then he did take the Forks trail back.”
“Didn’t do that, nuther.”
“Then where did he go? Please tell me!” cried the girl, the tears of vexation rising into her voice.
“Why, what’s the matter, girl? He crossed the Fork just there,” said the old man, pointing, “and he took over the hill for French Village. You his wife? You’re mighty young.”