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 dusk of early morning they
safely turned the curve where Harry King had fallen, never knowing the
danger.

Harry King, standing in the doorway of the cabin, with the firelight
bright behind him, saw them winding down the trail and hurried
forward. They were almost stupefied with fatigue. He lifted the mother
in his arms without a word and carried her into the cabin and laid her
in the bunk, which he had prepared to receive her. He greeted Amalia
with a quiet word as the big man led her in, and went out to the
horses, relieved them of their burdens, and led them away to the shed
by the spring. Soon the big man joined him, and began rubbing down the
animals.

"I will do this. You must rest," said Harry.

"I need none of your help," he said, not surlily, as the words might
sound, but colorlessly.

"I needed yours when I came here--or you saved me and brought me here,
and now whatever you wish I'll do, but for to-night you must take my
help. I'm not apologizing for what I did, because I thought it right,
but--"

"Peace, man, peace. I've lived a long time with no man to gainsay me.
I'll take what comes now and thank t