“Ye see,”—Jeb again took up his testimony,—“he didn’t want the news ter git ter his mother afore he got well, ’kase he war delikit, an’ she war always a-lookin’ fur him ter die; an’ Eph never knowed Jim war shot, an’ couldn’t kerry the tale down ter Colbury. Waal, we-uns war all young an’ toler’ble bouncin’ fools, I tell ye, an’ we sorter got light on that fac’ whenst we-uns sot out ter ride with a man with a gun-shot wound—I furgits ’zac’ly whar the doctor say the bullet went in—miles an’ miles through the mountings; an’ the dark kem on an’ the rain kem down, an’ Jeemes got out’n his head. An’ this ride with you-uns air what reminded me o’ it.” “_I_ ain’t out of my head!” cried Harshaw, with covert meaning. “You bet your immortal soul on that!” “Naw,”—Jeb admitted the discrepancy,—“but the rain, an’ the ride, an’ the mountings, an’ the darksomeness.” “Lord! a body wouldn’t hev b’lieved how Jeemes’s pride war hurt ter be called afeard!” exclaimed Marvin. “I ’low he’d hev let Eph chop him up in minch meat ter prove he warn’t. He air prouder of hisself ’n enny man I ever see. Thar’s whar his soul is—in his pride.” “I’m glad ter hear it,” said Harshaw, so definitely referring to an occult interpretation of his own that the old white hat, bobbing along in front of him, turned slowly, and he saw the lank, cadaverous face below it, outlined with its limp wisps of black hair against the nebulous vapors. So strong an expression of surprise did Jeb’s features wear that Harshaw hastily added, “A man that ain’t got any pride ain’t worth anything.” “Ef he hev got ennything ter be proud of,” stipulated melancholy Jeb. The day had fully dawned; the rain, the mists, the looming forests, had acquired a dull verity in the stead of the vague, illusory shadows they had been. Nevertheless, the muddy banks of the creek down which the mare slided, her legs rigid as iron; the obstructions of the ford,—rocks, fallen limbs of trees, floating or entangled in intricacies of overhanging bushes,—were all rendered more difficult, for Harshaw mechanically controlled the reins instead of trusting to the mare’s instinct; as he sawed on the bit, while she threw back her head, foaming at the mouth, he brought her to her knees in the midst of the stream. The water surged up about the great boots which he wore drawn over his trousers to the knee, and the mare regained her footing with snorting difficulty. There were no expletives, and Jeb looked back in renewed surprise. “Ye mus’ be studyin’ powerful hard, stranger,” he commented, “not ter hev seen that thar bowlder.” “Yer beastis war a-goin’ ter take slanchwise across the ruver whar thar warn’t nuthin’ ter hender, till ye in an’ about pulled the jaw off’n her,” Marvin said, as Harshaw pushed through the swollen flood and up the opposite bank. His flushed face was grave; his eyes were intent; he rode along silently. He was indeed thinking.