The old frontiersman took hold of his mare’s bridle.

“’Tis hardly what you’d look for in a Missionary outfit, Bessie.”

“You’ll leave for the South at once?”

The question commanded.  The old frontiersman listened.

“Hoof express, Sir,” promised the sheep-skin leggings.

“And mind you I know nothing about it, Jim.  I’m not to be told.  I take care of you without you knowing about it.  I expect you to take care of us—­” the white waist coat became at once impressive and anxious.

“That’s all right, Colonel.  I understand!  We’ll crowd ’em to beat Hell; and they’ll go it blind.  If it’s coming dark, they’ll shut their eyes and go over blind.  I defy Sheriff Flood, himself, if he’s standing on the spot to make a case—­”

“You need have no fear of Sheriff Flood ever being on the spot.  He’ll be busy under his bed that night; but look out for these Federal puppy-boy Forest Ranger fellows!  Finish up off the confounded National Range.  Finish up before they reach the National Range.”

“And the Mexican herders?” asked the sheep skin chaps with a flourish of his band above the fire that showed the flash of a diamond on the little finger.

The white vest spread deprecating hands.

“That’s your business, Jim!  Make a clean sweep of the herd; but see that no harm comes to the boy.”

The old frontiersman headed his broncho silently back on the trail.

“Night birds hatching snake eggs.  A’m really between two minds to go back and crack their addled heads.”

CHAPTER V

THE CHOICE THAT COMES TO ALL MEN

“Did you notice anything?” demanded Brydges, as the old stranger went down the Ridge trail.  “She knows English as well as you do; and she is a French breed.  Why did she put on to be Mexican?  What did she sneak for?  Whole thing cussed queer.  What do you make of it?  Matthews?  Matthews?  I recall that name.  Fellow by that name wrote our paper to know if any Canadian settlers had come here!  Say, Wayland, the old man pricked up his ears at MacDonald’s name—­spoke of Rebellion Days.”

“Oh, shut it off, Bat!  What in the world has a travelling half-cracked ranting old evangelist to do with the MacDonald family?  He’ll land on the Mission for a week or two free like the rest of ’em!  He’ll likely preach Hell-fire to Indians, who’ll not know a word of what he says till Mr. Williams gives him a call to move on—­”

“All the same,” retorted Bat, disappearing inside the cabin.

Wayland passed a bad night, the worst he had known on the Holy Cross, contending with what comes to all lives, and to many lives many times.