," said Dick, although his tone
showed no such hope. But he added, assuming a cheerful manner:
"This can't go on forever; we'll be reaching the mountains soon,
and then you'll get well."

"How's that brother of yours? No better, I see, and he's got to
ride all the time now, making more load for the animals."

It was Sam Conway, the leader of the train, who spoke, a rough
man of middle age, for whom both Dick and Albert had acquired a
deep dislike. Dick flushed through his tan at the hard words.

"If he's sick he had the right to ride," he replied sharply.
"We've paid our share for this trip and maybe a little more.
You know that."

Conway gave him an ugly look, but Dick stood up straight and
strong, and met him eye for eye. He was aware of their rights
and he meant to defend them. Conway, confronted by a dauntless
spirit, turned away, muttering in a surly fashion:

"We didn't bargain to take corpses across the plains."

Fortunately, the boy in the wagon did not hear him, and, though
his eyes flashed ominously, Dick said nothing. It was not a time
for quarreling, but it was often hard to restrain one's temper.
He had realized, soon after the start, when it was too late to
withdraw, that the train was not a good one. It was made up
mostly of men. There were no children, and the few women, like
the men, were coarse and rough. Turbulent scenes had occurred,
but Dick and Albert kept aloof, steadily minding their own
business.

"What did Conway say?" asked Albert, after the man had gone.

"Nothing of any importance. He was merely growling as usual. He
likes to make himself disagreeable. I never saw another man who
got as much enjoyment out of that sort of thing."

Albert said nothing more, but closed his eyes. The canvas cover
protected him from the glare of the sun, but seemed to hold the
heat within it. Drops of perspiration stood on his face, and
Dick longed for the mountains, for his brother's sake.

All the train fell into a sullen silence, and no sound was heard
but the unsteady rumble of the wheels, the creak of an ungreased
axle, and the occasional crack of a whip. Clouds of dust arose
and were whipped by the stray winds into the faces of the
travelers, the fine particles burning like hot ashes. The train
moved slowly and heavily, as if it dragged a wounded length over
the hard ground.

Dick Howard kept his position by the side of the wagon in which
his brother lay. He did not intend t