rail known to him, and not to
many other honest men. Horse Thief Pass was the name his letter gave it.
Business (he was always brief) would call him over there at this time.
Returning, he must attend to certain matters in the Wind River country.
There I could leave by stage for the railroad, or go on with him the
whole way back to Sunk Creek. He designated for our meeting the forks
of a certain little stream in the foot-hills which to-day's ride had
brought in sight. There would be no chance for him to receive an answer
from me in the intervening time. If by a certain day--which was four
days off still--I had not reached the forks, he would understand I had
other plans. To me it was like living back in ages gone, this way of
meeting my friend, this choice of a stream so far and lonely that its
very course upon the maps was wrongly traced. And to leave behind all
noise and mechanisms, and set out at ease, slowly, with one packhorse,
into the wilderness, made me feel that the ancient earth was indeed my
mother and that I had found her again after being lost among houses,
customs, and restraints. I should arrive three days early at the
forks--three days of margin seeming to me a wise precaution against
delays unforeseen. If the Virginian were not there, good; I could fish
and be happy. If he were there but not ready to start, good; I could
still fish and be happy. And remembering my Eastern helplessness in
the year when we had met first, I enjoyed thinking how I had come to be
trusted. In those days I had not been allowed to go from the ranch for
so much as an afternoon's ride unless tied to him by a string, so to
speak; now I was crossing unmapped spaces with no guidance. The man who
could do this was scarce any longer a "tenderfoot."

My vision, as I rode, took in serenely the dim foot-hills,--to-morrow's
goal,--and nearer in the vast wet plain the clump of cottonwoods, and
still nearer my lodging for to-night with the dotted cattle round it.
And now my horse neighed. I felt his gait freshen for the journey's
end, and leaning to pat his neck I noticed his ears no longer slack and
inattentive, but pointing forward to where food and rest awaited both of
us. Twice he neighed, impatiently and long; and as he quickened his gait
still more, the packhorse did the same, and I realized that there was
about me still a spice of the tenderfoot: those dots were not cattle;
they were horses.

My horse had put me in the wrong. He had