He
remembered his father standing in the portico, and, strangely enough,
the Tacitus lying in his locked desk at the academy. But he crushed
it down. His abounding youth made him consider as weak and unworthy,
an emotion which a man would merely have reckoned as natural.
The station at Winton was a full twenty miles from Pendleton and,
with such heavy snow, Harry did not expect to arrive until late in the
afternoon. Nor would there be any need for him to get there earlier,
as no train for Nashville reached that place until half past six in the
evening. His horse showed no signs of weariness, but he checked his
speed, and went on at an easy walk.
The road curved nearer to a line of blue hills, which sloped gradually
upward for scores of miles, until they became mountains. All were
clothed with forest, and every tree was heavy with snow. A line between
the trees showed where a path turned off from the main road and entered
the hills. As Harry approached it, he heard the crunching of horses'
hoofs in the snow. A warning instinct caused him to urge his own horse
forward, just as four riders came into view.
He saw that the men in the saddles, who were forty or fifty yards away,
were mountaineers, like Skelly.
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