Tears welled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She held
Shenton's curly head against her face so that he could not see. She
stifled a sob and whispered back:

"My boy, you will reach the mountain."

The next day a man of the country joined them. He was dressed in a suit
and hat of deerskin. On his feet were sandals. Across one shoulder he
carried a stick from which dangled a bundle. His quick, springy stride
carried him easily beside the cavalcade.

"The blessing of God be upon your Mercies," was his greeting. "Whence do
you come and whither do you go? Tell him who so rudely asks, I beg you.
I am John, the Courier."

Ann and the Reverend Orme looked vaguely at each other. They had no
answer. But Shenton spoke.

"Friend," he said, "we come from the South. We journey to yonder
mountain. What is it called?

"It is called the Sorcerer."

"The Sorcerer?" cried Shenton. "That is a strange-name."

"It is called the Sorcerer," said the man, "because it deceives. It is a
landmark in the wilderness, but it shows no man the way. So equal are
its sides, that it points neither east nor west nor south nor north.
Upon, its summit is a single tree, planted by no human hands."