break our necks, hosses an’ all.  Then thar are some cliffs close to the road.  If we was to slip on that thar skim of ice which we’ve reckoned might come, then mebbe we’d go over one of them cliffs and drop down a hundred feet or so right swift.  If it was soft mud down below we might not get hurt mortal.  But it ain’t soft mud.  We’d hit right in the middle of sharp, hard rocks.  An’ if a gang of rebel sharpshooters has wandered up here they may see us an’ chase us ’way off into the mountains, where we’d break our necks fallin’ off the ridges or freeze to death or starve to death.”

Whitley stared at him.

“Blaze,” he exclaimed, “what kind of a man are you anyway?”

“Me?  I’m the happiest man in the valley.  When people are low down they come an’ talk to me to get cheered up.  I always lay the worst before you first an’ then shove it out of the way.  None of them things that I was conjurin’ up is goin’ to happen.  I was just tellin’ you of the things you was goin’ to escape, and now you’ll feel good, knowin’ what dangers you have passed before they happened.”

Dick laughed.  He liked this intensely red man with his round face and twinkling eyes.  He saw, too, that the mountaineer was a fine horseman, and as he carried a long slender-barreled rifle over his shoulder, while a double-barreled pistol was thrust in his belt, it was likely that he would prove a formidable enemy to any who sought to stop him.

“Perhaps your way is wise,” said the boy.  “You begin with the bad and end with the good.  What is the name of this place to which we are going?”

“Hubbard.  There was a pioneer who fit the Injuns in here in early times.  I never heard that he got much, ’cept a town named after him.  But Hubbard is a right peart little place, with a bank, two stores, three churches, an’ nigh on to two hundred people.  Are you wrapped up well, Mr. Mason, ‘cause it’s goin’ to be cold on the mountains?”

Dick wore heavy boots, and a long, heavy military coat which fell below his knees and which also had a high collar protecting his ears.  He was provided also with heavy buckskin gloves.  The sergeant was clad similarly.

“I think I’m clothed against any amount of cold,” he replied.

“Well, you need to be,” said Petty, “’cause the pass through which we’re goin’ is at least fifteen hundred feet above Townsville—­that’s our village—­an’ I reckon it’s just ’bout as high over Hubbard.  Them fifteen hundred feet make a pow’ful difference in climate, as you’ll soon find out.  It’s not only colder thar, but the winds are always blowin’ hard through the pass.  Jest look back at Townsville.  Ain’t she fine an’ neat down thar in the valley, beside that clear creek which higher up in the mountains is full of the juiciest an’ sweetest trout that man ever stuck a tooth into.”