And because she was yet a timid rider
and feared to keep the pace set by the others, it was Evadna who
heard and turned back to see what was the trouble. Aunt Phoebe
was standing beside the road, waving a flask.
"It's the cream for your coffee," she cried, going to meet
Evadna. "You can slip it into your jacket-pocket, can't you,
honey? Huckleberry is so steady--and you won't do any wild
riding like the boys."
"I've got my veil and a box of bait and two handkerchiefs and a
piece of soap," the girl complained, reaching down for the
bottle, nevertheless. "But I can carry it in my hand till I
overtake somebody to give it to."
The somebody proved to be Good Indian, who had found it necessary
to stop and inspect carefully the left forefoot of his horse,
without appearing aware of the girl's approach. She ambled up at
Huckleberry's favorite shuffling gait, struck him with her
whip--a blow which would not have perturbed a mosquito--when he
showed a disposition to stop beside Grant, and then, when
Huckleberry reluctantly resumed his pacing, pulled him up, and
looked back at the figure stooped over the hoof he held upon his
knee.
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