In a thorn-bush the old woman saw a
mocking-bird feeding her young; in the dust she saw where a snake had
smoothed his way across the road. She halted to look at a bare-legged
boy, who with his straw hat was seining a rivulet.
Telling the time by the sun, she dismounted at noon and in the shade of
a wild plum thicket, ate her luncheon, while the mare cropped the sweet
road-side grass. But it was not intended that her journey should be
without event. Along toward four o'clock she came to a bridge across a
small stream. The planks were worn with heavy hauling--the whole thing
dangerous, and into a hole the mare's foot sank. She floundered, fell,
and when Margaret, unhurt, arose out of the dust, she saw with horror
that the poor creature's leg was broken. The mare floundered to the
road-side and then in misery sank upon the ground.
"Poor old friend," said the woman, with sorrow in her voice, tears
streaming from her eyes, but in her hand was the pistol. "Good-bye, an'
don't hold this ag'in me fur it's all I can do." Close to the horse's
head she held the barrel of the pistol--fired, and without looking,
resumed on foot her solitary way.
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