"Do you happen to know him?"

"Sorter."

"Could you--get me to his place?"

"I reckon. That's what I come ter do."

"I--I had a trunk sent on ahead; perhaps it is in that shed?"

"It's up to--to Jim's place. Can you ride behind me on the mare?
Travelling is tarnation bad."

Once they were on the mare's back, conversation dragged, then died a
natural death. Truedale felt as if he were living a bit of anti-war
romance as he jogged along behind his guide, his grip knocking
unpleasantly against his leg as the way got rougher.

It was nine o'clock when, in a little clearing close by the trail, the
lights of a cabin shone cheerily and the mare stopped short and
definitely.

"I hope White is at home!" Truedale was worn to the verge of exhaustion.

"I be Jim White!" The man dismounted and stood ready to assist his
guest.

"Welcome, stranger. Any one old Doc McPherson sends here brings his
welcome with him."