orrel rejoicing in the
name of Caspar. He had a dull eye, a long, sheeplike nose and a wagging
under lip; and Natalie vowed he was half-witted. He would not ride
abreast; but insisted on following; and he screamed with terror,
if for an instant he lost sight of the other horses.

But it was the two pack horses that offered the most diverting study of
character. When they left the Settlement behind, Garth cast off their
leaders. In Emmy, a rotund little mare, they had secured a treasure.
Emmy had an indifferent air toward them, worthy of a breed; but unlike
a breed, she was thoroughly business-like. Where the great mudholes of
unknown depth blocked the trail, and they must strike into the bush, she
required no guidance. They laughed and admired, to see her stop, looking
this way and that, and deliberately pick her way through, always with
due regard to the height and breadth of the pack on her back. Emmy
declined to be hurried; she had an air that said as plainly as words, if
they didn't like her pace, they could leave her behind, and be hanged to
them!

The remaining animal was Emmy's son, a half-broken colt, whose
only virtue was that he would not stray very far from his mother.
Mistatimoosis was his mouthful of a name. He forgot his pack sometimes,
and striking it full tilt against a tree, would be knocked endwise in
the trail, blinking and dismayed, as who should say, "Who hit me?" The
thing that caused them the heartiest laughter was to see Mistatimoosis's
endless attempts to steal the leadership of the caravan from his mother.
It was the only thing that could tempt Emmy out of her sedate pace. On
a fair piece of road the two of them would race at top speed for half a
mile; and the colt was continually making sly detours into the bush to
get around his mother. But she kept him in his place behind.

The riders finding they could safely leave the packhorses to follow, had
ridden ahead to spy out grass and water for the noon spell. They were
walking their horses over the turf bordering the trail, when suddenly
from among the trees came with startling distinctness the sound of a
voice. They reined up, astonished. It was the gentle, ambling voice of
a loquacious old man; and his conversation there in the wilderness was
as quiet and intimate as chimney-corner talk.

"I should say half-past eleven," they heard. "When Mr. Sun sits down on
yonder spruce tree we'll make a break. So work your jaws good, Mother,
old girl; a