"But you are mistaken; the Meek boys--James and Charles--were killed
only a few weeks ago, just across the river," said the priest. "And
they were better able to take care of themselves than you are, my child.
Come, you must turn back with us. We cannot go with you, and we must not
allow you to go on alone."
Saying this, Father Orin turned his horse and moved forward. David made
no movement to follow. Tightening the reins on the pony's neck, he did
not try to turn him. Something in the stiff lines of the boy's dark
figure told the doctor part of the truth. He broke in quickly, speaking
not as a man speaks to a child, but as one man to another.
"There are worse things than wild beasts or Indians to be met on the
Wilderness Road," he said. "And the strongest and the bravest are
helpless against a stab in the back, or a trap in the dark."
David felt a sudden wish to see the speaker's face. He longed to see how
a man looked who had a voice like that. It stirred him, and yet soothed
him at the same time. Every tone of it rang clear and true, like a bell
of purest metal.
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