of a torrent, brabbled a slim brown stream, MacLean stood still, gazed for
a minute, then, whistling, caught up with his companion, and spoke at
length upon the subject of the skins awaiting them at Williamsburgh.

The road had other travelers than themselves. At intervals a cloud of dust
would meet or overtake them, and out of the windows of coach or chariot or
lighter chaise faces would glance at them. In the thick dust wheels and
horses' hoofs made no noise, the black coachmen sat still upon the boxes,
the faces were languid with the springtime. A moment and all were gone.
Oftener there passed a horseman. If he were riding the planter's pace, he
went by like a whirlwind, troubling only to curse them out of his path; if
he had more leisure, he threw them a good-morning, or perhaps drew rein to
ask this or that of Hugon. The trader was well known, and was an authority
upon all matters pertaining to hunting or trapping. The foot passengers
were few, for in Virginia no man walked that could ride, and on a morn of
early May they that walked were like to be busy in the fields. An ancient
seaman, lame and vagabond, lurched beside them for a while, then lagged
behind; a witch, old and bowed and bleared of eye, crossed their path; and
a Sapony hunter, with three wolves' heads slung across his shoulder,
slipped by them on his way to claim the reward decreed by the Assembly. At
a turn of the road they came upon a small ordinary, with horses fastened
before it, and with laughter, oaths, and the rattling of dice issuing from
the open windows. The trader had money; the storekeeper had none. The
latter, though he was thirsty, would have passed on; but Hugon twitched
him by the sleeve, and producing from the depths of his great flapped
pocket a handful of crusadoes, écues, and pieces of eight, indicated with
a flourish that he was prepared to share with his less fortunate
companion.

They drank standing, kissed the girl who served them, and took to the road