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The narrow street still marked the trail's end before the Exchange Hotel. San Miguel, with its dun walls and triple-towered steeple, still good guard over the soul of Santa Fé, as it had stood for three sunny centuries. The Mexican still drove down the loaded burro-train of firewood from the mountains. The Indian basked in the sunny corners of the Plaza.
Joe and the negro had not been in actual view of Layson's cabin, up to that time. A rocky corner, rising at the trail's side, had concealed it. Now they stepped around this and the lighted door and windows of the little structure stood out, despite increasing darkness, plainly in their view.
One summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign of his Majesty King George the Second, the Young Rachel, Virginian ship, Edward Franks master, came up the Avon river on her happy return from her annual voyage to the Potomac. She proceeded to Bristol with the tide, and moored in the stream as near as possible to Trail's wharf, to which she was consigned. Mr.
"Why, yes, Uncle," he said promptly. "We'll go. That's how you said. I'm all in on this. I'm crazy to see all that wonderland can show me. It doesn't scare me a thing. You see, it's a winter trail. I guess I know the summer trail so I won't forget it. The winter trail's new and I'm crazy for it. You'll need us all on this thing. Steve shook his head.
He told of dreams he had had as a Congressman and as a Senator and of the great hopes with which he had taken up the work of the Secretary of the Interior. And finally, as the wind began to lessen with the sinking sun, and the tired horses slowed to the trail's lifting from the bowl, he told her of his last speaking trip, of its purpose and of its results.
But Jim was lost in his own wild thoughts. "Yes, and he's good company, too, Peter," he cried. "Devilish good." He laughed at his own humor. "The harder you play the harder and more merrily he'll dance. We've got one life. The trail's marked out for us. And, by gum, we'll live while we can. Why should we sweat and toil, and have it squeezed out of us whenever they think fit?
They struck the creek in the flats and were driven out of the valley. The trail's not over two hours old. Ride the line until you meet the other boys, and I'll trail down these cattle. The sand dunes ought to catch them." Dell and Sargent separated. Five miles to the eastward Joel was met.
He fell upon it with uproarious glee. "Trail's gittin' hot," said he. "I reckon I'll go on up." "No!" cried Dunwody suddenly, and sprang to the foot of the stair. "Please! that is, " he hesitated. "If you will kindly wait a moment, I will have the servants put your room in order for you before you go up." "Oho!" cried the Honorable William. "Don't want us to find out a single thing!
That which was revealed was the supplementary information which the Southern Pacific furnishes to its patrons. It read: "Elevation 482 feet." We were definitely out of the mountains. The trail's call depends not at all on your common sense. You know you are a fool for answering it; and yet you go.
He could be here in two hours, if he starts right off, and, considering what the trail's like, that's blamed fast travelling." He disappeared into the darkness, and the girl went back to the ranch. It was, perhaps, significant that she should feel sure that the man she had sent for would obey the summons, but she grew anxious while the two hours slipped by.
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