way Harry takes, too, when he comes yer oncet in an age to talk to his
own flesh and blood, and see a Christian face that ain't agin him!"
Mr. Tarbox was silent. "Ye know whar the tree was thrown down on the
road," he said at last.
"Yes."
"The mountain rises straight up on the right side of the road, all hazel
brush and thorn--whar a goat couldn't climb."
"Yes."
"But that's a lie! for thar's a little trail, not a foot wide, runs up
from the road for a mile, keepin' it in view all the while, but bein'
hidden by the brush. Ye kin see everything from thar, and hear a
teamster spit on the road."
"Go on," said Brice impatiently.
"Then it goes up and over the ridge, and down the other side into a
little gulch until it comes to the canyon of the North Fork, where the
stage road crosses over the bridge high up. The trail winds round the
bank of the Fork and comes out on the LEFT side of the stage road about
a thousand feet below it. That's the valley and hollow whar Harry lives,
and that's the only way it can be found. For all along the LEFT of the
stage road is a sheer pitch down that thousand feet, whar no one kin git
up or down."
"I understand," said Brice, with sparkling eyes. "I'll find my way all
right."
"And when ye git thar, look out for yourself!" put in the woman
earnestly. "Ye may have regular greenhorn's luck and pick up Flo afore
ye cross the boundary, for she's that bold that when she gets lonesome
o' stayin' thar she goes wanderin' out o' bounds."
"Hev ye any weppin,--any shootin'-iron about ye?" asked Tarbox, with a
latent suspicion.
The young man smiled, and again showed his empty belt. "None!" he said
truthfully.
"I ain't sure ef that ain't the safest thing arter all with a shot like
Harry," remarked the old man grimly. "Well, so long!" he added, and
turned away.
It was clearly a leave-taking, and Brice, warmly thanking them both,
returned to the road.
It was not far to the scene of the obstruction, yet but for Tarbox's
timely hint, the little trail up the mountain side would have escaped
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