Our waggon-trail led us presently into a well-defined road, and along this we pursued our way for many miles, most of the distance being up-hill; and hard work we found it to walk quickly and steadily at that unfamiliar altitude. At length, having ascended a long and very steep hill, we sat down upon some stones by the wayside to rest. As we sat there we observed, coming up the road at an easy canter, two horsemen, one of whom, as soon as he arrived at the bottom of the hill, alighted from his horse and proceeded to walk up on foot; the other continuing to ride.
“That is a considerate fellow,” said Percy. “It isn’t everybody who would walk up this hill just to please his horse.”
“No,” I responded, “and the horse seems to know it; see how closely he walks behind; the man is not holding the bridle either.”
As the travellers came up the hill we observed that the one on foot was a tall young fellow of about twenty, brown-faced and grey-eyed, with a firmness about the mouth and a thoughtfulness of expression not usual in one of his age. But the other! To my great astonishment the other was the small, sharp-faced man of whom I have made mention on two or three previous occasions. How came he here? Had his presence anything to do with us? Before I could come to any conclusion or say anything to Percy on the subject the pair came opposite to where we sat, and stopped.
“Good-morning,” exclaimed the young fellow, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “Pretty hot, isn’t it? Which way are you going; up or down?”
“Up,” replied Percy. “We are on our way to Golconda. Do you happen to know the place?”
“Oh, yes. Very well. I live there.”
“Do you? Then do you know a gentleman there named Harding, or his son, Jack Harding?”
“Yes,” replied the stranger.
“They are living there still, I suppose?” said Percy, with some anxiety; for, though he had said nothing to me on the subject, he had been worrying himself a good deal over the idea that his uncle might have left the place—and what would become of us then?