"You're such a little person," he said, "these stirrups are a mile too
long. Put your feet in the leather above--so. Now play follow your
leader. Give Silk his head."
He moved away. The blurred shapes of the pack horses forged ahead,
rustling in the dry grass, dry twigs snapping under foot. Obedient to
Bill's command, she let the reins dangle, and Silk followed close
behind his mates. Hazel lurched unsteadily at first, but presently she
caught the swinging motion and could maintain her balance without
holding stiffly to the saddle horn.
They crossed the small meadow and plunged into thick woods again. For
the greater part of the way Hazel could see nothing; she could tell
that Wagstaff and the pack horses moved before her by the sounds of
their progress, and that was all. Now and then low-hanging limbs
reached suddenly out of the dark, and touched her with unseen fingers,
or swept rudely across her face and hair.
The night seemed endless as the wilderness itself. Unused to riding,
she became sore, and then the sore muscles stiffened. The chill of the
night air intensified. She grew cold, her fingers numb. She did not
know where she was going, and she was assailed with doubts of Roaring
Bill's ability to find Cariboo Meadows.
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