of those two blessed hours with our eyes sealed up tight as the lid of a jar.
"How high was the Gauley?" I almost shouted, pointing my finger at Red Mike.
"’Mid sides," answered Jourdan, turning around in his saddle.
"’Mid sides!" I echoed; "and the logs? Was it running logs?"
"Nothin' but brush an' a few old rails. You can see the water mark on Red Mike right here at the bottom of the saddle skirt." And the old man reached down and put his finger on the smoking horse. "The Gauley ain't up to stop nothin'."
I clapped my teeth together. So much for the solicitous care of Hawk Rufe. If we had gone by the Hacker's Creek road we should have missed Jourdan and lost the good half of a day. Woodford knew that Ward would send by the shortest road. It was the first gleam of the wolf tooth shining for a moment behind the woolly face of the sheepskin.
I looked down at Ump. The hunchback put his elbow on the horn of his saddle and rested his jaw in the hollow of his hand.
