igh
boots with red tops. A heavy shawl of dark red was wrapped around his
shoulders, and beneath his broad-brimmed hat a red woolen comforter
covered his ears, cheeks, and chin. His thick hair and a thick beard
clothing his entire face were a flaming red. The whole effect of the man
was somewhat startling, but when he saw Dick looking at him in curiosity
his mouth opened wide in a grin of extreme good nature.

"I guess you think I'm right red," he said. "Well, I am, an' as you see
I always dress to suit my complexion. Guess I'll warm up the road some
on a winter day like this."

"Would you mind my callin' you Red Blaze?" asked Sergeant Whitley
gravely.

"Not-a-tall! Not-a-tall! I'd like it. I guess it's sorter pictorial an'
'maginative like them knights of old who had fancy names 'cordin' to
their qualities. People 'round here are pretty plain, an' they've never
called me nothin' but Bill. Red Blaze she is."

"An' Blaze for short. Well, then, Blaze, what kind of a road is that
we're goin' to ride on?"

"Depends on the kind of weather in which you ask the question. As it's
the fust edge of winter here in the mountains, though it ain't quite
come in the lowlands, an' as it's rained a lot in the last week, I
reckon you'll find it bad. Mebbe our hosses will go down in the road
to thar knees, but I guess they won't sink up to thar bodies. They may
stumble an' throw us, but as we'll hit in soft mud it ain't likely to
hurt us. It may rain hard, 'cause I see clouds heapin' up thar in the
west. An' if it rains the cold may then freeze a skim of ice over the
road, on which we could slip an' break our necks, hosses an' all. Then
thar are some cliffs close to the road. If we was to slip on that thar
skim of ice which we've reckoned might come, then mebbe we'd go over one
of them cliffs and drop down a hundred feet or so right swift. If it was
soft mud down below we might not get hurt mortal. But it ain't soft
mud. We'd hit right in the middle of sharp, hard rocks. An' if a gang
of rebel sharpshooters has wandered up here they may see us an' chase us
'way off into the mountains, where we'd break our necks fallin' off the
ridges or freeze to death or starve to death."

Whitley stared at him.

"Blaze," he exclaimed, "what kind of a man are you anyway?"

"Me? I'm the happiest man in the valley. When people are low down they
come an' talk to me to get cheered up. I always lay the worst before you
first an' then shove it out of