rug of moss and lichens that covered it. The shadows had crept
from the foot of the mountains, darkening the valley, and lifting up
the mountain-side beneath him a long, wavering line in which met
the cool, deep green of the shade and the shining bronze where the
sunlight still lay. Lazily following this line, his eye caught two
moving shadows that darted jagged shapes into the sunlight and as
quickly withdrew them. As the road wound up toward him, two
figures were soon visible through the undergrowth. Presently a
head bonneted in blue rose above the bushes, and Clayton's
half-shut eyes opened wide and were fixed with a look of amused
expectancy where a turn of the path must bring rider and beast into
plain sight. Apparently some mountain girl, wearied by the climb
or in a spirit of fun, had mounted her cow while driving it home;
and with a smile at the thought of the confusion he would cause
her, Clayton stepped around the bowlder and waited. With the
slow, easy swing of climbing cattle, the beast brought its rider into
view. A bag of meal lay across its shoulders, and behind this the
girl-for she was plainly young-sat sidewise, with her bare feet
dangling against its flank. Her face was turned toward the valley
below, and her loosened bonnet half disclosed a head of bright
yellow hair.

Catching sight of Clayton, the beast stopped and lifted its head, not
the meek, patient face he expected to see, but a head that was
wrinkled and vicious-the head of a bull. Only the sudden
remembrance of a dead mountain custom saved him from utter
amazement. He had heard that when beasts of burden were scarce,
cows, and especially bulls, were worked in ploughs and ridden by
the mountaineers, even by the women. But this had become a
tradition, the humor of which greater prosperity and contact with a