with company. He's a mighty good-natered man, an' I tell 'im they take
the advantage of 'im. But I've posted 'im 'bout ye, and ye're all
right."

"Is it very far to the gulf?" inquired Benedict.

"Yes, it's a good deal of a drive, but when ye git there, ye can jest
lay right down in the boat, an' go to sleep. I'll wake ye up, ye know,
when we run in."

The miles slid behind into the darkness, and, at last, the rain
subsiding somewhat, Jim stopped, partly to rest his smoking horse, and
partly to feed his half-famished companions. Benedict ate mechanically
the food that Jim fished out of the basket with a careful hand, and the
boy ate as only boys can eat. Jim himself was hungry, and nearly
finished what they left.

At two o'clock in the morning, they descried Mike Conlin's light, and in
ten minutes the reeking horse and the drenched inmates of the wagon
drove up to the door. Mike was waiting to receive them.

"Mike, this is my particular friend, Benedict. Take 'im in, an' dry 'im.
An' this is 'is boy. Toast 'im both sides--brown."

A large, pleasant fire was blazing on Mike's humble hearth, and with
sundry cheerful remarks he placed his guests before it, relieving them
of their soaked wrappings. Then he went to the stable, and fed and
groomed his horse, and returned eagerly, to chat with Jim, who sat
steaming before the fire, as if he had just been lifted from a hot bath.