seemed caught and
held in aerial gulfs above the earth, making the heavens clear, while
the night clung close and undisturbed to the plain's face. Once from
afar the cry of an animal arose, a long, swelling howl, but around the
train all was still save for the crackling of the crushed sage stalks,
and the pad of hoofs.

It was near midnight when Susan's voice summoned Daddy John. The wagon
halted, and she beckoned him with a summoning arm. He ran to her,
circling the bushes with a youth's alertness, and stretched up to hear
her as she bent from the saddle. David must go in the wagon, he was
unable to ride longer. The old man swept him with a look of
inspection. The starlight showed a drooping figure, the face hidden by
the shadow of his hat brim. The mules were at the limit of their
strength, and the old man demurred, swearing under his breath and
biting his nails.

"You've got to take him," she said, "if it kills them. He would have
fallen off a minute ago if I hadn't put my arm around him."

"Come on, then," he answered with a surly look at David. "Come on and
ride, while the rest of us get along the best way we can."

"He can't help it," she urged in an angry whisper. "You talk as if he
was doing it on purpose."

David slid off his horse and made for the wagon with reeling steps.
The other man followed muttering.

"Help him," she called. "Don't you see he can hardly stand?"

At the wagon wheel Daddy John hoisted him in with vigorous and ungentle
hands. Crawling into the back the sick man fell prone with a groan.
Courant, who had heard them and turned to watch, came riding up.

"What is it?" he said sharply. "The mules given out?"

"Not they," snorted Daddy John, at once all belligerent loyalty to
Julia and her mates, "it's this d--d cry baby again," and he picked up
the reins exclaiming in tones of fond urgence:

"Come now, off again. Keep up your hearts There's water and grass
ahead. Up there, Julia, honey!"

The long team, crouching in the effort to start the wagon, heaved it
forward, and the old man, leaping over the broken sage, kept the pace
beside them. Courant, a few feet in advance, said over his shoulder:

"What's wrong with him now?"

"Oh, played out, I guess. She," with a backward jerk of his head,
"won't have it any other way. No good telling her it's nerve not body
that he ain't got."

The mountain man looked back toward the pathway between the slashed and
broken bush