an hour
before noon
Not only hills did the river bring down but birds , trees , and even mountain mists , and from out the black mouth of that hole in the wall and into those morning mists stole one day a long train and stopped before the six great gray pillars of the historic old State-house . Out of this train climbed a thousand men , with a thousand guns , and the mists might have been the breath of the universal whisper : `` The mountaineers are here ! '' Of their coming Jason had known for some time from Arch Hawn , and just when they were to come he had learned from Steve . The boy had not enough carfare even for the short ride of less than thirty miles to the capital , so he rode as far as his money would carry him and an hour before noon found him striding along on foot , his revolver bulging at his hip , his dogged eyes on the frozen turnpike . It was all over for him , he thought with the passionate finality of youth -- his college career with its ambitions and dreams . He was sorry to disappoint Saint Hilda and John Burnham , but his pride was broken and he was going back now to the people and the life that he never should have left . He would find his friends and kinsmen down there at the capital , and he would play his part first in whatever they meant to do .