Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/158

154 help in the night with your ankle, call me. But, as is always my custom, I shall have a few prayers.

At once the old man kneeled down and offered up his humble petitions. He prayed especially for the wandering flock, not forgetting to ask a blessing upon the stranger under his roof. Thanking God for all His past mercies, and committing himself and his visitor to the Divine protection, he rose from his knees and picked up his candle.

When the missionary began to pray, a cynical and a mocking expression overspread Bill’s face. With unbent head he watched the “daft old man,” as he considered him. But as the praying continued, some chord of memory was touched, and for the first time in years he recalled the little prayer he had learned at his mother’s knees. It was merely a passing emotion, however, but it brought a softer expression into his eyes.

“Are there any Injuns near here?” he asked, as the missionary was about to leave the room.

“Yes, several bands are out in the hills, so I understand.”

“Where?”

“Due west, straight up the valley. Good night, and may you rest well.”