t, I was in such confusion.

When I had run perhaps a mile (being at that time very slight, and
of active figure), I saw a cloud of dust, about two miles off, rising
through the bright blue haze. It was rich yellow dust of the fertile
soil, which never seems to cake or clot. Sometimes you may walk for
miles without the smallest fear of sinking, the earth is so elastic. And
yet with a slight exertion you may push a walking-stick down through it
until the handle stops it. My heart gave a jump: that cloud of dust was
a sign of men on horseback. And who could it be but Uncle Sam and Firm
and the foreman Martin?

As soon as it began to show itself, it proved to be these very three,
carelessly lounging on their horses' backs, overcome with heat and dust
and thirst. But when they saw me there all alone under the fury of the
sun, they knew that something must have gone amiss, and were all wide
awake in a moment.

"Well, now," said the Sawyer, when I had told my tale as well as short
breath allowed, "put this thing over your head, my dear, or you may gain
a sun-stroke. I call it too bad of them skunks to drive you in Californy
noon, like this."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, never think of me; think of your house and your goods
and Suan, and all at those bad men's mercy!"

"The old house ain't afire yet," he answered, looking calmly under his
hand in that direction. "And as for Suan, no fear at all. She knows
how to deal with such gallowses; and they will keep her to cook their
dinner. Firm, my lad, let us go and embrace them. They wouldn't 'a made
much bones of shooting us down if we hadn't known of it, and if they had
got miss afore the saddle. But if they don't give bail, as soon as they
see me ride up to my door, my name's not Sampson Gundry. Only you keep
out of the way, Miss Remy. You go to sleep a bit, that's a dear, in the
graywitch spinny yonder, and wait till you hear Firm sound the horn. And
then come you in to dinner-time; for the Lord is always over you."

I hastened to the place which he pointed out--a beautiful covert of
birch-trees--but to sleep was out of the question, worn out though I
was with haste and heat, and (worst of all) with horror. In a soft mossy
nest, where a breeze from the mountains played with the in and out ways
of the wood, and the murmurous dream of genial insects now was beginning
to drowse upon the air, and the heat of the sun could almost be seen
thrilling through the alleys like a cicale's drum--h