Follett shook hands with him heartily, and turned to Prudence.

“This is my wife, Lew.  Prudence, this is Lew Steffins, our wagon-master.”

“Shoo, now!—­you young cub—­married?  Well, I’m right glad to see Mrs. Rool Follett—­and bless your heart, little girl!”

“Did you stop back there at the settlement?”

“Yes; and they said you’d hit the pike about dark last night, to chase a crazy man.  I told them I’d be back with the whackers if I didn’t find you.  I was afraid some trouble was on, and here you’re only married to the sweetest thing that ever—­why, she’s been crying!  Anything wrong?”

“No; never mind now, anyway.  We’re going on with you, Lew.”

“Bully proud to have you.  There’s that third wagon—­”

“Could I ride in that?” asked the girl, looking at the big lumbering conveyance doubtfully.

“It carried six thousands pounds of freight to Los Angeles, little woman,” answered Steffins, promptly, “and I wouldn’t guess you to heft over one twenty-eight or thirty at the outside.  I’ll have the box filled in with spruce boughs and a lot of nice bunch-grass, and put some comforts over that, and you’ll be all snug and tidy.  You won’t starve, either, not while there’s meat running.”

“And say, Lew, she’s got some stuff back at that place.  Let the extra hand ride back with a packjack and bring it on.  She’ll tell him what to get.”

“Sure!  Tom Callahan can go.”

“And give us some grub, Lew.  I’ve hardly had a bite since yesterday morning.”

An hour later, when the train was nearly ready to start, Follett took his wife to the top of the ridge and showed her, a little way below them, the cedar at the foot of the sandstone ledge.  He stayed back, thinking she would wish to be there alone.  But when she stood by the new grave she looked up and beckoned to him.

“I wanted you by me,” she said, as he reached her side.  “I never knew how much he was to me.  He wasn’t big and strong like other men, but now I see that he was very dear and more than I suspected.  He was so quiet and always so kind—­I don’t remember that he was ever stern with me once.  And though he suffered from some great sorrow and from sickness, he never complained.  He wouldn’t even admit he was sick, and he always tried to smile in that little way he had, so gentle.  Poor sorry little father!—­and yesterday not one of them would be his friend.  It broke my heart to see him there so wistful when they turned their backs on him.  Poor little man!  And see, here’s another grave all grown around with sage and the stones worn smooth; but there’s the cross he spoke of.  It must be some one that he wanted to lie beside.  Poor little sorry father!  Oh, you will have to be so much to me!”

The train was under way again.  In the box of the big wagon, on a springy couch of spruce boughs and long bunch-grass, Prudence lay at rest, hurt by her grief, yet soothed by her love, her thoughts in a whirl about her.