A strange costume, he thought, and, when he looked at the man more closely, his face also looked strange. It was that of a civilized human being, of a man who had come from the old, settled eastern regions, and yet it was not. The eyes, set rather close together, now and then showed green in the early dawn. Will judged that he was one who had become habituated to the wilderness, and, as he sat in a graceful att.i.tude on a great stone, he certainly showed no signs that his surroundings oppressed him.

"Mr. Martin Felton, Will," said the hunter. "Mr. Felton, this is Mr.

William Clarke, who is traveling with us."

Will stood up, the last trace of sleep gone from his eyes, and gazed at Felton. Perhaps this was a new comrade, turning their band to four, and strengthening it greatly. But when he glanced at the hunter and the Little Giant he did not see any great warmth of welcome in their eyes.

"Traveling, young sir!" said Felton in a lightly ironic tone. "You seem to prefer paths of peril. I would not say that this is exactly a safe region for tourists."

Now Will was quite sure he would be no addition to their party. He liked neither his tone nor his manner.

"It's true there is plenty of danger," he replied. "But, as I take it, there is no more for me than there is for you."

"The lad has put it very well, Mr. Felton," said the hunter. "However much we may be seeing the sights in these regions, our risks are no greater than yours are."

Felton, seeming not to notice him, continued, looking directly at Will:

"You're right to ask the question, but I can say in answer that your dangers are greater than mine. I have no trouble with the Sioux. I don't think any Indian warrior within a thousand miles of us wants my scalp."

"It was our information that they had declared war upon all white people who entered this country. How does it happen that you're immune?"

Felton smiled, and, in the lad's opinion, it was not a pleasant smile.

"I've been among the Sioux when they were not at war with us," he replied. "I've done them some good deeds. I've set a broken bone or two for them--I've a little surgical skill--and Mahpeyalute, whom we call Red Cloud, has a.s.sured me that no harm will ever be done to me. For that reason I'm wandering among these mountains and on the plains. I noticed on one of your horses picks, shovels and other mining implements, and I thought you might combine gold hunting with sight seeing. I'm something of a gold hunter myself and it occurred to me that we could combine forces. I've heard vaguely about a huge gold lead much farther west, and we four might make a strong party, able to reach it despite the Indian troubles."

The lad's heart beat the note of alarm and of hostility. Was it possible that this man knew anything of his father's great mine? He had to exchange only a few sentences with him to understand that he was not wanted as a fourth partner in the venture.

"Mr. Bent looks for gold casually," he replied, "but our main object is hunting and exploration. I doubt whether we'd want to take on anything else, though we thank you for your offer, Mr. Felton."

Felton did not seem at all disconcerted. He made upon Will the impression of persistency and of great strength, although the strength might be for evil.

"And so you don't think four are better than three," he said.

"That was not what I implied," replied Will. "What I meant to say was that our party was made up. Isn't that the way you feel about it, Mr.

Boyd?"

"My feelings to a T," replied the hunter.

"And yours, Mr. Bent?"

"You express my state o' mind to perfection, young William. Mr. Felton is the finest gentleman we hev met in the mountings since we met that band o' Sioux, but when a band is made up it's made up."

"Very well, gentlemen," said Felton, no anger showing in his tone. "I will not force myself upon anybody, but I'm no egotist, even if I do say you're the losers. My knowledge of the region and my friendship with the Sioux would be of great advantage to you, would be of so much advantage, in fact, that it would make me worth more than a fourth share in all the gold we might find. But, as I said, I will not stay where I'm not wanted. Good day!"

He strode away among the bushes, and for some distance they saw him descending the side of the mountain, to disappear at last in a forest of ash. Then the hunter and the Little Giant looked at each other significantly.

"We saw a footprint of his last night, Will," said Boyd, "but he came himself this morning, just at dawn. We can't quite make him out. Why does he talk of a great mine for which we're looking? Do you think your father ever mentioned it to anyone else?"

"Not that I ever heard. It must be only a guess, based on the sight of the Little Giant's tools. Did you ever see or hear of this man before?"

"No, but I know he's no friend of ours. There are renegades and desperadoes in these mountains, who make friends with the Indians, and I judge he's one of that kind. I'm mighty sorry we've run across him. He may have a band of his own somewhere, or he may go straight to the Sioux with news of us."

"He suspects us of a great gold hunt, so great that we are ready to risk anything for it. He showed it."

"So he did, and in my opinion the band, that he almost certainly has, will undertake to follow us."

"I didn't like him the first minute I saw him," said the Little Giant.

"The reason why I cannot tell, but I do not like thee, Mr. Felton.

Haven't I heard a rhyme like that somewhere, young William?"

"Almost like it, Giant, and just like you, the first moment I laid eyes on him, I disliked him. I think he's a danger, a big danger, and so do both of you. I can tell it by the way you act. Now, what do you think we ought to do?"

"We're not to go down into the plains, that's sure," replied Boyd, "because then we'd run into Felton and his gang and maybe a band of Sioux also. There's only one thing open to us."

"Go back up the mountain?"

"That and nothing else. Felton will expect us to come on down, but we'll fool him by going the other way. There's always hiding in rough country and under the cover of great forests. In my opinion, we've both Indians and white men now to fight. We must meet their cunning united, and the nearer we get to Will's White Dome the safer we'll be."

"An' it's not so bad, after all!" exclaimed the Little Giant. "We'll go back and climb and climb till neither reds nor whites kin foller us."

"We'll have to go well above the snow line, and camp there awhile," said Boyd. "And if we were snowed in for a few weeks it wouldn't hurt, provided we find a well protected hollow. Then we'd be sure to shake off all pursuit."

"Come on, then," said Will, with enthusiasm. "It's the White Dome that offers us safety."

"The White Dome it is!" said the Little Giant, with energy.

They put back the packs and saddles and turned once more into the depths of the mountains, riding whenever it was possible, but when the way grew steep, leading the animals at the ends of the lariats. Will was rather glad, for many reasons, that they had abandoned the journey into the plains, as the gold mine, for the present at least, seemed scarcely a reality, and the vast peaks and ridges were far more interesting than the brown swells below, besides being safer. Moreover, the great White Dome loomed before him continually, and he had a certain pride in the thought that they would pa.s.s over its towering shoulder.

"I've been thinkin' mighty hard," said the Little Giant.

"Does it make your head ache much?" asked the hunter.

"Not in this case. It hurts sometimes, when I try to think forward, but not when I try to think back an' remember things. Then I've got somethin' to go on. I'm tryin' to rec'lect whether I ever met a feller who wuz ez unpleasant to my feelin's ez that thar Felton."

"I know I never did," said Will, with emphasis.

"Me neither," said the hunter. "I don't like men who wear velvet jackets with big bra.s.s b.u.t.tons on 'em. Now I think the way is going to be pretty steep for a long distance, and I guess we'll have to walk. Lucky these horses and mules of ours are having so much experience in climbing mountains. They go up 'em like goats now."

Despite the skill of men and beasts as climbers they could not ascend at any great rate, although Will noticed that both his comrades were eager to get on. He fancied that the image of Felton was in their minds, just as it was in his, and the farther they advanced the more sinister became the memory of the velvet-coated intruder.

They pa.s.sed out upon a great projecting, bald rock, where they paused for many long breaths, and Will, through his gla.s.ses, was able to see the brown plains far below, sweeping away in swell on swell until they died under a dim horizon. But the distance was so great that he could make out nothing on their surface.

Night found them on a ridge, where there was enough gra.s.s for the horses, and trees still grew, though much dwarfed and stunted. They kept close in the lee of the trees and did not build any fire, although it was very cold, so cold that the bearskin coats again formed a welcome addition to the blankets. Boyd said it would be best for them to keep watch, although little danger was antic.i.p.ated. Still, they could not be too cautious, and Will, who insisted on mounting guard in his turn, was permitted to do so. The Little Giant kept the first watch and Will the second, beginning about midnight. Giant Tom, who awakened him for it, went almost instantly to sleep himself, and the lad was left alone.

He lay upon a rather wide shelf, with his two comrades only a few feet away, while the horses and mules were back of them, having withdrawn as much as they could into the stubbly pines and cedars in order to protect themselves from the cold wind. Will heard one of them stir now and then, or draw a deep breath like a sigh, but it merely formed an under note in the steady whistling of the wind, which at that height seemed to have an edge of ice, making him shiver in all his wrappings. Nevertheless, he watched as well as one might under such circ.u.mstances, feeling himself but a mote on the side of a great mountain in all the immensity of the wilderness.

Surely the hunter was right when he said there was little danger. He did not know from what point in so much blackness and loneliness could danger be apprehended, but he believed, nevertheless, that danger was near. The whistling of the bitter wind seemed to him sinister and threatening, and yet a wind was only a wind. It must be circ.u.mstances going before that had given it that threat. He knew the mind could be so prepared by events that it became a sensitive plate, receiving upon its surface impressions that were, in reality, warnings.

Stronger and shriller grew the wind, and stronger and shriller was its warning. He had been lying upon his side with his rifle thrust forward, and now he sat up. Some unknown sense within him had taken cognizance of a threatening note. Listening intently he heard only the wind, but the wind itself seemed always to bear a menace on its front.