Such being the case, it was remarkable that he should have started for a point in the Virginia hills by way of Boston, thence to Norfolk by coastwise steamer, and on to Lamar by lines of railroad whose schedules would have been the despair of unhardened travelers.  He had expressed his trunks direct, and traveled with two suitcases and an umbrella.  His journey, since his boat swung out into Massachusetts Bay, had been spent in gloomy speculations, and two young women booked for Baltimore wrongly attributed his reticence and aloofness to a grievous disappointment in love.

He had wanted time to think—­to ponder his affairs—­to devise some way out of his difficulties, and to contrive the defeat of Chauvenet.  Moreover, his relations to the Claibornes were in an ugly tangle:  Chauvenet had dealt him a telling blow in a quarter where he particularly wished to appear to advantage.

He jumped out of the day coach in which he had accomplished the last stage of his journey to Lamar, just at dawn, and found Oscar with two horses waiting.

“Good morning,” said Oscar, saluting.

“You are prompt, Sergeant,” and Armitage shook hands with him.

As the train roared on through the valley, Armitage opened one of the suit-cases and took out a pair of leather leggings, which he strapped on.  Then Oscar tied the cases together with a rope and hung them across his saddle-bow.

“The place—­what of it?” asked Armitage.

“There may be worse—­I have not decided.”

Armitage laughed aloud.

“Is it as bad as that?”

The man was busy tightening the saddle girths, and he answered Armitage’s further questions with soldierlike brevity.

“You have been here—­”

“Two weeks, sir.”

“And nothing has happened?  It is a good report.”

“It is good for the soul to stand on mountains and look at the world.  You will like that animal—­yes?  He is lighter than a cavalry horse.  Mine, you will notice, is a trifle heavier.  I bought them at a stock farm in another valley, and rode them up to the place.”

The train sent back loud echoes.  A girl in a pink sun-bonnet rode up on a mule and carried off the mail pouch.  The station agent was busy inside at his telegraph instruments and paid no heed to the horsemen.  Save for a few huts clustered on the hillside, there were no signs of human habitation in sight.  The lights in a switch target showed yellow against the growing dawn.

“I am quite ready, sir,” reported Oscar, touching his hat.  “There is nothing here but the station; the settlement is farther on our way.”

“Then let us be off,” said Armitage, swinging into the saddle.

Oscar led the way in silence along a narrow road that clung close to the base of a great pine-covered hill.  The morning was sharp and the horses stepped smartly, the breath of their nostrils showing white on the air.  The far roar and whistle of the train came back more and more faintly, and when it had quite ceased Armitage sighed, pushed his soft felt hat from his face, and settled himself more firmly in his saddle.  The keen air was as stimulating as wine, and he put his horse to the gallop and rode ahead to shake up his blood.