he
youth without speaking.

"Is Mr. Reynolds at home?" asked Mose.

"No, but he'll be here in a second--jest rode over the hill to look at a
sick colt. Git off an' make yuself comfortable."

Mose slipped off his horse and stood watching the queer old fellow as he
squinted and hammered upon a piece of iron, chewing furiously meanwhile
at his tobacco. It was plain his skill was severely taxed by the
complexity of the task in hand.

As he stood waiting Mose saw a pretty young woman come out of the house
and take a babe from the ground with matronly impatience of the dirt
upon its dress.

The old man followed the direction of the young man's eyes and mumbled:
"Old man's girl.... Her child."

Mose asked no questions, but it gave a new and powerful interest to the
graceful figure of the girl.

Occasionally the old man lifted his eyes toward the ridge, as if looking
for some one, and at last said, "Old man--comin'."

A horseman came into view on the ridge, sitting his horse with the grace
and ease of one who lives in the saddle. As he zig-zagged down the steep
bank, his pony, a vicious and powerful roan "grade," was on its haunches
half the time, sliding, leaping, trotting. The rider, a smallish man,
with a brown beard, was dressed in plain clothing, much the worse for
wind and sun. He seemed not to observe the steepness and roughness of
the trail.

As he rode up and slipped from his horse Mose felt much drawn to him,
for his was a kindly and sad face. His voice, as he spoke, was low and
soft, only his eyes, keen and searching, betrayed the resolute
plainsman.

"Howdy, stranger?" he said in Southern fashion. "Glad to see you, sir."

Mose presented his note from Delmar.

"From old Delmar, eh? How did you leave him? In good health and spirits,
I hope."

He spoke in the rhythmical way of Tennesseans, emphasizing the auxiliary
verbs beyond their usual value. After reading the letter he extended his
hand. "I am very glad to meet you, sir. I am indeed. Bill, take care of
Mr.----" He paused, and looked at the latter.

"Mose--Mose Harding," interpolated Mose.

"Put in Harding's horse. Come right in, Mr. Harding; I reckon dinner is
in process of simmering by this time."

"Call me Mose," said the youth. "That's what Delmar called me."

Reynolds smiled. "Very good, sir; Mose it shall be."

They entered the front door into the low-ceiled, small sitting room
where a young girl was sitting sewing, with a babe at her