In three minutes the revenue officer, mounted once more, tramped out into
the shivering mists and the black night. The damp fallen leaves deadened
the sound of departing hoofs; the obscurities closed about him, and he
vanished from the scene, leaving not a trace of his transitory presence.
Briscoe lingered in the stable, finding a jovial satisfaction in the
delight of little Archie in the unaccustomed experience, for the child
had the time of his life that melancholy sombre night in the solitudes of
the great mountains. His stentorian shouts and laughter were as bluff as
if he were ten years old, and as boisterous as if he were drunk besides.
Briscoe had perched him on the back of a horse, where he feigned to ride
at breakneck speed, and his cries of "Gee!" "Dullup!" "G'long!" rang out
imperiously in the sad, murky atmosphere and echoed back, shrilly sweet,
from the great crags. The stable lantern showed him thus gallantly
mounted, against the purple and brown shadows of the background, his
white linen frock clasped low by his red leather belt, his cherubic legs,
with his short half hose and his red shoes, sticking stiffly out at an
angle of forty-five degrees, his golden curls blowing high on his head,
his face pink with joy and laughter.
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