The hill-top passed, the horses swung down into a deep, long valley. It was in this valley, some six or seven miles farther on, he had encountered Scipio in Minky's buckboard. He thought of that meeting now, and remembered many things; and as recollection stirred his teeth shut tight till his jaw muscles stood out like walnuts through his lean cheeks. He had promised Scipio that day. Well, his mind was easier than his feelings. He was confident. But he was stirred to a nervous desire to be doing. Nothing escaped his watchful eyes. Every tree, every bush, every rise and hollow passed under his closest scrutiny. But this was simply his way, a way that had long since been forced into a habit. He did not anticipate any developments yet. The battle-cry was yet to be sounded. He knew the men he was likely to deal with better than any other class. He knew their ways, their subtleties. Who should know them better? Had not years of his life been spent--? He laughed aloud, but his laughter rang without mirth. And his horses, taking the sound to be a command, broke suddenly into a gallop. It was the sympathy between man and beast asserting itself. They, too, possessed that nervous desire to be doing. Something of the significance of the journey was theirs, and their nerves were braced with the temper of fine steel. He steadied them down with the patience of a devoted father for a pack of boisterous children. No harsh words disturbed their sensitive ears. The certainty of their obedience made it unnecessary to exert any display of violence. They promptly fell again into their racing trot, and the cart once more ran smoothly over the hard beaten trail. The higher reaches of the creek cut into the valley from the right, and the trail deviated to a rise of sandy ground. He had reached the point of his meeting with Scipio. Nor did he slacken his pace over the dust-laden patch. It was passed in a choking cloud, and in a moment the rise was topped and a wild, broken country spread out before him. Five miles farther on he halted beside a small mountain stream and breathed his horses. But his halt was of the briefest. He simply let the horses stand in their harness. It was not time to feed, but he removed their bits and let them nip up the bunches of sweet grass about their feet. And as he did so he paused a moment at the head of each animal, muttering words of encouragement, and administering caresses with a hand which bore in its touch an affection that no words of his could have conveyed. Then he went back to the cart and made a few simple dispositions. One was to securely lash the gold-chest in its place; but its place he changed to the front of the cart. Another was to leave the lid of the foot-box, built against the dashboard, wide open, and to so secure it that it could not close again. Another was to adjust the lowered hood of the cart in a certain way that it was raised head-high as he sat in his driving-seat.