Every day they passed these weary walkers. The Boy
was sorry they couldn't ride. His pony's step was so firm and quick and
strong.
He raced with Howell the first day and beat him so far there was no fun
in it. He never challenged his rival again. He was the guest of Major
Hinds on this trip. It would be rude. But he slipped out in the dark
that night, and hugged his pony:
"You're the finest horse that ever was!" he whispered.
"Of course I am!" the pony laughed.
"I love you--"
"And I love you," was the quick response as the warm nose touched his
cheek.
In the second week, they reached the first stand, "Folsoms'," on the
border of the Choctaw Nation. These stands were log cabins occupied by
squaw men--whites who had married Indian women. They must pass three
more of these stands the Major said--the "Leflores," known as the first
and second French camps, and the one at the crossing of the Tennessee
River, which had the unusual distinction of being kept by a half-breed
Chickasaw Indian.
Here, weary, footsore travelers stopped to rest and refresh
themselves--and many dropped and died miles from those they loved. The
little graveyard with its rude, wooden-marked mounds the Boy saw with a
dull ache in his heart.
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