the
dust that rose high in the road. "But I ain't one to put much faith in
looks," he added with his usual caution, as he shifted the knapsack upon
his shoulders.

Dan laughed easily. "Well, I'm heartily glad I left my overcoat behind me,"
he said, breathing hard as he climbed the mountain road, where the red clay
had stiffened into channels.

The sunshine fell brightly over them, lying in golden drops upon the fallen
leaves. To Dan the march brought back the early winter rides at Chericoke,
and the chain of lights and shadows that ran on clear days over the tavern
road. Joyously throwing back his head, he whistled a love song as he
tramped up the mountain side. The irksome summer, with its slow fevers and
its sharp attacks of measles, its scarcity of pure water and supplies of
half-cooked food, was suddenly blotted from his thoughts, and his first
romantic ardour returned to him in long draughts of wind and sun. After
each depression his elastic temperament had sprung upward; the past months
had but strengthened him in body as in mind.

In the afternoon a gray cloud came up suddenly and the sunshine, after a
feeble struggle, was driven from the mountains. As the wind blew in short
gusts down the steep road, Dan tightened his coat and looked at Pinetop's
knapsack with his unfailing laugh.

"That's beginning to look comfortable. I hope to heaven the wagons aren't
far off."

Pinetop turned and glanced back into the valley. "I'll be blessed if I
believe they're anywhere," was his answer.

"Well, if they aren't, I'll be somewhere before morning; why, it feels like
snow."

A gust of wind, sharp as a blade, struck from the gray sky, and whirlpools
of dead leaves were swept into the forest. Falling silent, Dan swung his
arms to quicken the current of his blood, and walked on more rapidly. Over
the long column gloom had settled with the clouds, and they were brave lips
that offered a jest in the teeth of the wind. There were no blankets, few
overcoats, and fewer rations, and the supply wagons were crawling somewhere
in the valley.

The day wore on, and still the rough country road climbed upward embedded
in withered leaves. On the high wind came the first flakes of a snowstorm,
followed by a fine rain that enveloped the hills like mist. As Dan stumbled
on, his feet slipped on the wet clay, and he was forced to catch at the
bared saplings for support. The cold had entered his lungs as a knife, and
his breath circled i