But houses were never far between, and wherever there were houses, there
was cane rum. It was so cheap it was often given away for a smile.

Twice in the long months Shenton had eluded his watchful father, once by
slipping his saddle-cloth and going back to pick it up, and once by
riding ahead on a misty morning. Each time he stole back with hanging
and drooping shoulders. The look of utter despondency and gloomy despair
in his eyes wrung his parents' hearts, held back his father's hand from
wrath.

Of them all, Shenton suffered most from fever. There came a time when he
could no longer ride. Natalie, grown pale and thin, but strong withal,
took his place on the pony and he hers on the wagon. There he lay long
hours in his mother's arms.

When all the storms of life had swept over her, Ann Leighton looked back
upon those days as the abiding-place of her dearest memories. Safe
within the circle of her arms lay her boy. There no evil could reach
him, no gnawing temptation ravage his child's will. Her watchful love
warded off the gloomy hour. His prattle of childish things warmed her
heart until it swelled to an exquisite agony of content.

One day they awoke to a new presence on the flat horizon. Far, far away
rose a mountain from the plain. It was wonderfully symmetrical, rising
to a single peak. All day long they traveled toward it. All day long
Shenton kept his somber eyes fixed upon it. Toward evening he raised his
face to his mother's. She leaned over him.

"Mother," he whispered, "I should like to reach the mountain."