Mrs.Pratt was a wizened little woman, so humped by labor and chills and fever that she seemed deformed.

Her querulousness was not so much ill-natured as plaintive.
"He _says_ his name is Mose Hardluck," Harold heard the girl say, and that ended all further inquiry.

He became simply "Mose" to them.
There was a satisfying charm to the business of camping out which now came to be the regular order of living to him.

By day the cattle, thin and poor, crawled along patiently, waiting for feeding time to come, catching at such bunches of dry grass as came within their reach, and at their heels rode Harold on an old black mare, his clear voice urging the herd forward.

At noon and again at night Pratt halted the wagons beside the road and while the women got supper or dinner Harold helped Pratt take care of the stock, which he was obliged to feed.