rising, intercepted its coming at the forks of the trail, heading the
pack-horses in toward his camp. He walked with a twisting limp, his blue
eyes were faded and pale, his bearded face was melancholy and sad; but as
he seated himself on a stone and waited for Johnson's coming, some of the
sadness passed and his somber face lit up with unwonted animation.

"Howdy, Pete! I heard yuh was coming. I waited for yuh."

Pete leaped from his horse and gripped the freighter's hand.

"Jackson Carr, by all that's wonderful! Jack, old man! How is it with
you?"

Jackson Carr hesitated, speaking slowly:

"Sally's gone, Pete. She died eight years ago. She had a hard life of it,
Pete. Gay and cheerful to the last, though. Always such a brave little
trick..."

His voice trailed off to silence. It was long before Pete Johnson broke
upon that silence.

"We'll soon be by with it, Jack. Day before yesterday we was boys
together in Uvalde an' Miss Sally a tomboy with us. To-morrow will be no
worse, as I figure it." He looked hard at the hills. "It can't be all a
silly joke. That would be too stupid! No jolthead made these hills. It's
all right, I reckon.... And the little shaver? He was only a yearlin'
when I saw him last. And I haven't heard a word about you since."

"Right as rain, Bobby is. Goin' on ten now. Of course 'tain't as if he