The smile with which Meredith had faced her past three years lingered
still on the set mouth--the smile was for Jed.

"There seem to be more downs than ups on this road," the girl said, in
order to cover a groan. "It will be awful after dark."

"Dark or light, ma'am," Jed returned, "it's all the same to me, ma'am. I
know dese little ole humps like I know my fingers and toes, ma'am."

"Do--do you always hit the same humps?" Jed was hitting one now,
squarely.

"Mostly, ma'am; but I'm studyin' to get there before dark, ma'am. If
Washington now, ma'am"--Jed indicated the sleeker of the two
horses--"had the ginger, so to speak, ma'am, as Lincoln has got--why,
ma'am, the River Road would be flyin' out behind, ma'am, like it war a
tail of a kite."

Meredith managed to give a weak laugh and, as the wagon hit another
hump, she edged toward Jed. After a few moments he felt her head against
his shoulder--from suffering and exhaustion she fell into a brief and
troubled sleep.

Like one carved from rock, Jed held his position while a reverent
expression grew upon his face.

The glow showed yellow through the western sky, The Gap was growing
purplish and dim, and just then, across a foot bridge over the river, a
hurrying, bent form appeared. It swayed perilously--Jed heard a muttered
curse.