"At Pennock's Post," said David. "Stayed at Pennock's, did ye?" snarled the old fellow. "Didn't ye find something there, hey?" This was just what David had been waiting for. Another moment, and he would have uncorked the explosive phials of wrath, but hearing a light footstep he turned, and the next instant, without a single angry word, set his lips hard. It was neither fear nor irresolution which occasioned this remarkable change on David's part, but a delicate, chivalrous sense of the consideration a man always owes to the gentler sex. On turning his head, he became aware, for the first time, of the presence of a woman. She was slender, gray-haired, and gentle-faced. She was neatly dressed in black, and had been walking behind the pack train. It flashed through David's mind instantly that this was the old man's wife, and he was conscious of a feeling of pity. Furthermore, she was the first white woman he had seen for many months. It was a delight just to look at her. Quarrel in her presence he could not, nor add one jot to the burden which he felt sure she must bear as the consort of such a man. It was the sight of this elderly woman which had sealed his lips, and now, to the astonishment of her husband, David turned and walked away without a reply. The woman spoke to him kindly as he passed, and he touched his cap respectfully. Hardly had he cleared the pack train before he heard the old man belaboring the mule on which he rode, and swearing roundly at the other animals. He wondered if the poor wife would have to walk those fifteen long miles while her husband rode. Not long afterward he met a second section of the train, in charge of a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, who evidently preferred not to overtake his employer. David pressed on with all possible speed, but since noon his left foot had been giving him pain, and he now became more crippled with every step. Whether it was rheumatism or a bruise or strain he did not know, but by the time he reached the river he was ready to drop. To his delight, a large tent on the hither bank indicated the presence of some one at the ford, and he had no doubt he could cross dry-shod on the morrow. On reaching this tent he was surprised to find no one within, but, confident that the owner was near, he threw off his pack with a sigh of relief, and stretched himself wearily on a pile of canvas coverings. An hour or more had dragged by when David saw a slender young man, with a bushy brown beard, leading a bony horse toward the opposite bank of the river. He mounted at the ford, and, having crossed, took off the saddle and turned the steed loose. "How are you?" said the stranger cordially, as he noticed David. "Been here long?" "About an hour," answered David. "I thought you wouldn't mind my resting here." "Not at all. Make yourself at home. Didn't see anything of a stray mule round here, did you? I've been hunting that mule all the afternoon, but I can't find the critter."