They of the High Trails

  VI

  THE PROSPECTOR

  Old Pogosa was seated in the shade of a farm-wagon, not far from thetrader's store at Washakie, eating a cracker and mumbling to herself,when a white man in miner's dress spoke to her in a kindly voice andoffered her an orange. She studied him with a dim, shining, suspiciousgaze, but took the orange. Eugene, the grandson of her niece, stoodbeside the stranger, and he, too, had an orange.

  "Tell her," said the white man, "that I want to talk with her about olddays; that I am a friend of her people, and that I knew Sitting Bull andBear Robe. They were great chiefs."

  As these words were interpreted to the old witch, her mouth softened alittle and, raising her eyes, she studied her visitor intently. At lastshe said: "Ay, he was a great chief, Sitting Bull. My cousin. I came tovisit Shoshoni many moons ago. Never returned to my own people."

  To this the miner replied, "They say your husband, Iapi, was one of thesheep-eaters exiled to the mountains?"

  Her eyes widened. Her gaze deepened. She clipped her forefinger in signof agreement. "It was very cold up there in winter. We were oftenhungry, for the game had all been driven to the plain and we could notfollow. Many of our children died. All died but one."

  The stranger, whose name was Wetherell, responded with a sigh: "My heartis heavy when I hear of it. Because you are old and have not much food Igive you this money." And he handed her a silver dollar and walked away.

  The next day, led by Eugene, Wetherell and Kelley, his partner, againapproached the old Sioux, this time with a generous gift of beef.

  "My brother, here, is paper-chief," he explained. "As a friend of thered people he wants to put in a book all the wrongs that thesheep-eaters suffered."

  In this way the gold-seekers proceeded to work upon Pogosa's witheredheart. Her mind was clouded with age, but a spark of her old-timecunning still dwelt there, and as she came to understand that the whitemen were eager to hear the story of the lost mine she grew forgetful.Her tongue halted on details of the trail. Why should not her taleproduce other sides of bacon, more oranges, and many yards of cloth? Hermemory wabbled like her finger--now pointing west, now north. At onetime the exiles found the gold in the cabin in a bag--like shining sand;at another it lay in the sand like shining soldiers' buttons, but alwaysit was very beautiful to look upon, and always, she repeated, the whitemen fled. No one slew them. They went hurriedly, leaving all theirtools.

  "She knows," exulted Wetherell. "She knows, and she's the one livingIndian who can direct us." To Eugene he exclaimed: "Say to her prettysoon she's going to be rich--mebbe go home to Cheyenne River. If sheshows us the trail we will take her to her own people."

  Like a decrepit eagle the crone pondered. Suddenly she spoke, and herspeech was a hoarse chant. "You are good to me. The bones of my childrenlie up there. I will go once more before I die."

  Kelley was quick to take advantage of sunset emotion. "Tell her we willbe here before sunrise. Warn her not to talk to any one." And to allthis Eugene gave ready assent.

  Wetherell slept very little that night, although their tent stood closebeside the singing water of the Little Wind. They were several milesfrom the fort and in a lonely spot with only one or two Indian hutsnear, and yet he had the conviction that their plans and the very hourof their starting were known to other of the red people. At one momenthe was sure they were all chuckling at the "foolish white men"; atanother he shivered to think how easy it would be to ambush this crazyexpedition in some of the deep, solitary defiles in those upper forests."A regiment could be murdered and hidden in some of those savageglooms," said he to himself.

  Kelley slept like a top, but woke at the first faint dawn, with theprecision of an alarm-clock. In ten minutes he had the horses in, andwas throwing the saddles on. "Roll out, Andy," he shouted. "Here comesEugene."

  Wetherell lent himself to the work with suddenly developed enthusiasm,and in half an hour the little train of laden animals was in motiontoward the hills. Pogosa was waiting, squatted on the ground at somedistance from her tepee. Slipping from his horse, he helped her mount.She groaned a little as she did so, but gathered up the reins like oneresuming a long-forgotten habit. For years she had not ventured tomount a horse, and her withered knees were of small service inmaintaining her seat, but she made no complaint.

  Slowly the little train crawled up the trail, which ran for the mostpart along the open side of the slope, in plain view from below. Atsunrise they were so well up the slope that an observer from below wouldhave had some trouble in making out the character of the cavalcade. Atseven o'clock they entered the first patch of timber and were hiddenfrom the plain.

  On the steep places, where the old squaw was forced to cling to hersaddle, groaning with pain, the kindly Wetherell walked beside her,easing her down the banks. In crossing the streams he helped her findthe shallowest fording, and in other ways was singularly considerate.Kelley couldn't have done this, but he saw the value of it.

  "It's a hard trip and we've got to make it as easy for the old bird aswe can."

  "She's human," retorted Wetherell, "and this ride is probably painfulfor her, mentally as well as physically."

  "I s'pose it does stir her up some," responded Kelley. "She may balk anyminute and refuse to go. We'd better camp early."

  A little later Eugene called out, "She says set tepee here." And Kelleyconsented.

  Again it was Wetherell who helped her from her saddle and spread hispack for her to rest upon. He also brought a blanket and covered her astenderly as if she were his own grandmother. "She's pretty near all in,"he said, in palliation of this action. He took a pleasure in seeing herrevive under the influence of hot food.

  When she began to talk, Eugene laughingly explained: "She stuck on you.She say you good man. Your heart big for old Injun woman."

  Kelley chuckled. "Keep it up, Andy," he called through the tent. "Ileave all that business to you."

  Pogosa's face darkened. She understood the laugh. "Send him away," shecommanded Eugene, all of which made Kelley grin with pleasure.

  The whole enterprise now began to take on poetry to Wetherell. Thewilderness, so big, so desolate, so empty to him, was full of memoriesto this brown old witch. To her the rushing stream sang long-forgottensongs of war and the chase. She could hear in its clamor the voices offriends and lovers. This pathway, so dim and fluctuating, so indefiniteto the white man, led straight into the heroic past for her. Perhaps shewas treading it now, not for the meat and flannel which Kelley hadpromised her, but for the pleasure of reliving the past. She was youngwhen her husband was banished. In these splendid solitudes her braveyoung hunter adventured day by day. Here beside one of these gloriousstreams her children were born in exile; here they suffered the snows ofwinter, the pests of summer; and here they had died one by one, tillonly she remained. Then, old and feeble, she had crawled back into thereservation, defiant of Washakie, seeking comfort as a blind dog returnsto the fireside from which he has been cruelly spurned.

  As she slept, the men spread a map on the ground, and for the hundredthtime Wetherell measured the blank space lying between Bonneville Basinand Fremont's Peak marked "unexplored," and exclaimed:

  "It's wonderful how a mountain country expands as you get into it. Don'tlook much on the map, but, gee! a fellow could spend ten years lookingfor this mine, and then be no better off than when he started."

  "Yes," responded Kelley, "it's certainly up to you to cherish the oldlady."

  In the morning Wetherell dressed hastily and crept into the little tentwhere Pogosa lay. "How are you, granny?" he asked. She only shook herhead and groaned.

  "She say her back broke," Eugene interpreted.

  A brisk rubbing with a liniment which he had brought from his kitlimbered the poor, abused loins, and at last Pogosa sat up. She suddenlycaught Wetherell's hand and drew it to her withered breast.

  "Good white man," she cried out.

  "Tell her I'll make her eyes well, too," he commanded Eugene. "Themedicine will hurt a l
ittle, but it will make her eyes stronger to seethe trail."

  Kelley could not suppress his amusement as he watched Wetherell'soperations. "You'll spoil gran'ma," he remarked. "She'll be discontentedwith the agency doctor. I'm not discouragin' your massage operations,mind you, but I can't help thinking that she'll want clean towels, andan osteopath to stroke her back every morning, when she goes back to hertepee."

  "If she only holds out long enough to help us to find the mine she canhave a trained nurse, and waiting-maid to friz her hair--if she wants itfrizzed."

  "You don't mean to let her in as a partner?"

  "I certainly do! Isn't she enduring the agonies for us? I'm going to seethat she is properly paid for it."

  "A hunk of beef and plenty of blankets and flannel is all she can use;but first let's find the mine. We can quarrel over its divisionafterward."

  "I doubt if we get her ahorse to-day. She's pretty thoroughly batteredup."

  "We must move, Andy. Somebody may trail us up. I want to climb into thenext basin before night. Let me talk to her."

  She flatly refused to move for Kelley, and Eugene said: "She too sick.Legs sick, back sick, eyes sick. Go no further."

  Kelley turned to Wetherell. "It's your edge, Andy. She's balked on me."

  Wetherell took another tack. He told her to rest. "By and by I'll comeand rub your back again and fix your eyes. To-morrow you will feelstrong and well." To this she made no reply.

  All the day Kelley kept his eyes on the back trail, expecting eachmoment to see some dusky trailer break from the cover. As night began tofall it was Wetherell who brought a brand and built a little fire nearthe door to Pogosa's tent so that the flame might cheer her, and sheuttered a sigh of comfort as its yellow glare lighted her dark tepeewalls. He brought her bacon, also, and hot bread and steaming coffee,not merely because she was useful as a guide, but also because she wasold and helpless and had been lured out of her own home into this grayand icy world of cloud.

  "Eddie," he said, as he returned to his partner, "we're on a wild-goosechase. The thing is preposterous. There isn't any mine--there can't besuch a mine!"

  "Why not? What's struck you now?"

  "This country has been traversed for a century. It is 'sheeped' andcattle-grazed and hunted and forest-ranged--"

  Kelley waved his hand out toward the bleak crags which loomed dimly fromamid the slashing shrouds of rain. "Traversed! Man, nobody ever doesanything more than ride from one park to another. The mine is not in apark. It's on some of these rocky-timbered ridges. A thousandsheep-herders might ride these trails for a hundred years and never seea piece of pay quartz. It's a big country! Look at it now! What chancehave we without Pogosa? Now here we are on our way, with a sour oldwench who thinks more of a piece of bread than she does of a hunk ofore. It's up to you, Andy--you and your 'mash.'"

  "Well, I've caught the mind-reading delusion. I begin to believe that Iunderstand Pogosa's reasoning. She is now beginning to be eaten byremorse. She came into this expedition for the food and drink. She nowrepents and is about to confess that she knows nothing about the mine.She and Eugene have conspired against us and are 'doing' us--good."

  "Nitsky! You're away off your base. The fact is, Pogosa is a Sioux. Shecares nothing for the Shoshoni, and she wants to realize on this mine.She wants to go back to her people before she dies. She meansbusiness--don't you think she don't; and if her running-gear don'tunmesh to-night or to-morrow she's going to make good--that's my hunch."

  "I hope you're right, but I can't believe it."

  "You don't need to. You keep her thinking you're the Sun-god--that'syour job."

  It rained all that day, and when night settled down it grew unreasonablywarm for that altitude, and down on the marshes the horses stood,patiently enduring the gnats and mosquitoes. They plagued Pogosa socruelly that Wetherell took his own web of bobinet and made a protectingcage for her head and hands. Never before had she been shielded from thepests of outdoor life. She laughed as she heard the baffled buzzingoutside her net, and, pointing her finger, addressed them mockingly.Wetherell took the same joy in this that a child takes in the action ofa kitten dressed as a doll. To Eugene he said:

  "You tell her Injun plenty fool. He don't know enough to get gold andbuy mosquito netting. If she is wise and shows me the mine she willnever be bitten again. No flies. No mosquitoes. Plenty beef. Plentybutter and hot biscuits. Plenty sugar and coffee. White man's own horsecarry her back to her people."

  It took some time to make the old woman understand this, and then shereplied briefly, but with vigor, and Eugene translated it thus: "Whiteman all same big chief. Go find mine, _sure_, for you. No want otherwhite man to have gold. All yours."

  The morning broke tardily. The rain had ceased, but the gray mist stillhid the peaks, and now and then the pines shook down a shower of dropsupon the tent cloth as if impatient of the persistent gathering ofmoisture. Otherwise the forest was as still as if it were cut frombronze.

  Kelley arose and, going outside, began kicking the embers together."Wake up, Andy. It's a gray outlook we have," he announced, after acareful survey. "The worst sign is this warmth and stillness. We're inthe heart of the storm, and the mosquitoes are hellish."

  As Wetherell was creeping from the tent door one of the pines quiveredand sent down a handful of drops, squarely soaking the back of his neck,and a huge mosquito stuck savagely to the end of his nose. He was not inthe best of humor as he straightened up.

  "I can stand cold and snow, or wet and cold, but this hot, sticky, darkweather irritates me. Let's climb high and see if we can't reach thefrost-line."

  "We'll be frosty enough when this storm passes," Kelley said,comfortingly. Then in a note of astonishment and surprise, "Well, lookat that!"

  Wetherell looked where he pointed, and beheld Pogosa squatting before ameager fire at her tent door, her head carefully draped in her bobinet.He forgot his own lumps and bumps, and laughed. "So doth the white man'scivilization creep upon and subdue the Amerind, destroying his robustcontempt for the elements and making of him a Sybarite."

  Eugene appeared, grinning ruefully. "Heap dam' moskeets. Drink my bloodall night."

  "I reckon you got gran'ma's share," said Kelley.

  Pogosa met Wetherell's glance with an exultant smile and pointed at thenet as if to say: "See, I am safe. The angry brutes cannot touch me."

  "The old girl is on her taps this morning. She deserves a reward. Wait ajiffy. There"--and Kelley uncorked a flask and poured a wee drop of anamber-colored liquid into the cup of coffee which Wetherell was about totake to her--"say nothing and see what happens."

  She ate a rousing breakfast and was especially pleased with the coffee.Kelley repeated the dose, and she, much invigorated, ordered Eugene tobring her pony to her. This tickled Kelley mightily.

  "You see how it is! She's already the millionairess. Who ever heard ofan Injun getting up a horse for an old squaw? Look at Eugene!"

  Eugene was indeed in open rebellion, and Wetherell, not caring to havetrouble with him, went down and brought up the pony himself. He alsogave the old woman his slicker and insisted on her wearing it, whereatEugene wondered again.

  The rain was beginning as they took their way over the meadow, andWetherell was near to being bogged the first crack out of the box. "Dowe go up that cliff?" he asked.

  Pogosa waved her forefinger back and forth as though tracing thedoublings of the trail.

  Kelley scanned the wall narrowly. "I don't quite see it," he remarked,openly, "but I reckon I can find it," and he spurred his horse to thefront.

  "No! No!" screamed Pogosa in a sudden fury, her voice shrill and nasal.Kelley stopped, and she motioned Wetherell to his place in the lead.

  With a comical look in his eyes the trailer fell back. "'Pears like Iain't good enough to precede her Majesty. Go ahead, Andy."

  Wetherell, in much doubt of his ability to scale that cliff, startedforth. The old trail could be seen dimly, and also the recent tracks ofthree horses. They were
not precisely fresh, but they gave someuneasiness.

  "Who made 'em, Eugene, and when?" he asked.

  "One man riding--white man," announced Eugene. "Two pack-horse--verylight pack--made--mebbe so--three days ago."

  "The forest-ranger from the other side, possibly."

  Wetherell, by watching the hoof-marks, by studying the conformation ofthe cliff before him, and by glancing back now and again at Pogosa,contrived to find the way. Slowly and for several hours they climbedthis vast dike. It was nearly eleven thousand feet above the sea here,and Kelley himself breathed with effort as he climbed.

  "I begin to see why people don't use this trail much," he said, as theystopped to rest on one of the broad shelves. "I'm beginning to wonderhow we're going to pack our ore to market over this road."

  "It will take mighty rich ore to pay its own freight," respondedWetherell.

  Pogosa seemed strangely excited. Her eyes were gleaming, her faceworking with emotion.

  "See the old girl!" said Kelley. "We must be hot on the trail of themine. It don't look like mineral formation, but gold is where you findit."

  "Go on," signed Pogosa.

  The way seemed interminable, and at times Wetherell despaired of gettinghis withered commander into the park which he was sure lay above thisdike. At noon they halted long enough to make coffee. Kelley flavored itas before, and Pogosa was ready to go on an hour later.

  As they rose above the dike and Bonneville's Peak came into view a lowhumming sound startled the hunters. It came from Pogosa. With eyes litby the reviving fires of memory, she was chanting a hoarse song. Sheseemed to have thrown off half the burden of her years. Her voicegradually rose till her weird improvisation put a shiver intoWetherell's heart. She had forgotten the present; and with hands restingon the pommel of her saddle, with dim eyes fixed upon the valley, wasreliving the past.

  "She singing old hunting song," Eugene explained. "Many years ago shesing it. This heap fine hunting-ground then. Elk, big-horn, bear. Allfine things in summer. Winter nothing but big-horn. Sheep-eaters livehere many summers. Pogos' young and happy then. Now she is old andlonesome. People all gone. Purty soon she die. So she say."

  Even the unimaginative mind of Tall Ed Kelley thrilled to the tragicsignificance of this survivor of a dying race chanting her solitarysong. Her memory was quickening under the touch of these cliffs and thesound of these streams. She was retracing the steps of her youth.

  Kelley interpreted it differently. "She's close to it," he called. "It'shere in this valley, in some of these ridges."

  Resolutely, unhesitatingly, Pogosa rode down the first stream which ranto the north, making directly for a low hill on which could be discerneda low comb of deflected rocks of a dark color. At last, riding up theledge, she slipped from her horse and, tottering forward, fell facedownward on the grass beside an upturned giant slab of gray stone.

  The men stared in wonder, searching the ground for evidence of mineral.None could be seen. Suddenly lifting her head, the crone began to singagain, uttering a heart-shaking wail which poured from her quiveringlips like the cry of the forsaken. The sight of her withered handsstrained together and the tears in her sunken cheeks went to the soul.The desolate rocks, the falling rain, the wild and monstrous cliffs, theencircling mountains, all lent irresistible power to her grief. Sheseemed the minstrel of her race mourning for a vanished world.

  "Come away," Eugene urged with a delicacy which sprang from awe. "_Herhusband buried there._"

  Deeply touched to know that her grief was personal, and filled, too,with a kind of helpless amazement at this emotional outbreak, thegold-seekers withdrew down the slope, followed by the riderless pony,leaving the old woman crouched close against the sepulcher of her dead,pouring forth the sobbing wail of her song.

  "This looks like the end of our mine," said Kelley, gloomily. "I beginto think that the old witch led us up here just for the sake of visitingthat grave."

  "It looks that way," responded Wetherell, "but what can we do? You can'tbeat her, and we've done all we could to bribe her."

  Eugene advised: "You wait. Bimeby she got done cryin'. To-morrow she gotcold--want meat, coffee--plenty bad. Then we go get her."

  They went into camp not far away in the edge of a thicket of scragglywind-dwarfed pines, and put up their tents for the night.

  "Wouldn't it put a cramp into you," began Kelley, as they stood besidetheir fire, "to think that this old relict has actually led us all theway up here in order to water the grave of a sweetheart who died fortyyears ago?"

  "It shows how human she is."

  "Human! She's superhuman. She's crazy, that's what she is."

  "It is all very wonderful to me, but I'm worried about her. She mustn'tstay out there in this rain. It's going to turn cold. See that streak inthe west?"

  As Wetherell left the camp-fire and began to climb back toward the combof rocks he felt not merely the sheer immensity of this granite basin,but the loneliness, its almost insupportable silence and emptiness. Withthe feeling of one who intrudes he called to the old woman. He stoopedand put his arm about her. "Come," he said. "You will die here. Come tothe fire."

  She suffered him to lead her away, but her head hung on her breast, herarms were limp.

  Back at the camp-fire, after seeing that Pogosa had been properly takencare of, the men faced each other in gloomy silence.

  "Right here we take our medicine, partner," remarked Kelley. "Here weput a dot and double the line. I'd like to break over that divide andsee how it looks in there, but our lady friend seems indisposed, and Iguess we'll just toast our knees and think where we missed it."

  "After all," said Wetherell, soothingly, "this morning may be merelyincidental. Let us be patient. She may recover." And at dark he carriedsome hot drink over to her tepee, but found her sleeping, and decidednot to awaken her.

  Back at their fire, as the night deepened, the men lighted their pipes,and with blankets at their backs huddled close about it. An imperiousvoice broke from Pogosa's tent. Wetherell looked around at Eugene.

  "Did you speak?" he asked.

  Eugene protested. "No. Pogosa talk."

  "It sounded like a chief's voice," Kelley began. "A vigorous voice."

  Eugene, trembling like a scared puppy, crept close to Wetherell. Hisvoice was a mere whisper. "That no Pogos'--that Injun spirit talking."

  Kelley was amused. "A spirit, eh? What does this spirit Injun say?"

  "Say, 'White man with red beard listen--come closer and listen'--"

  "That's you, Andy. Draw close. Your side partner has something to say."

  Wetherell, alarmed by this delirium of his patient, rose to his feet,and as he did so her harsh voice uttered a short phrase which stiffenedEugene with fright. He left his place and sidled after Wetherell.

  "She say _me_, Eugene, come talk for you."

  "Very true. You'll need him. This may be a dying confession," arguedKelley.

  "You go ahead in tepee," Eugene urged. "Me sit outside. Pogos' medicinenow. See 'um vision. Spirits talk to her."

  As he peered in at the tepee door Wetherell perceived Pogosa dimly. Shewas sitting erect in her bed. Her eyes were wide, the pose of her headerect and vigorous. She appeared a span taller, and when she spoke hervoice seemed to issue from a deep and powerful chest.

  With Eugene as a scared interpreter, Pogosa said: "Here, now where weare encamped, a battle took place many winters ago, and some of theexiles were slain. One of these was Iapi, the husband of Pogosa. He itwas who could not speak Shoshoni."

  Impatiently Kelley asked, "Will she be able to show us the mine?"

  "She will try, but she is old and her mind is misty. She say she isgrateful to you, Red Beard, and will give the gold to you. She asks thatyou take her back to her own people after you find the mine."

  "Is the mine far from here?" asked Wetherell, gently.

  "No, but it is very hard to find."

  "Can't you trace the trail on a piece of paper for me?" he inquired.

/>   "No, Pogosa cannot make the road. She can only tell you. Send the otherwhite man away."

  "Vamoose!" Wetherell called with a note of triumph in his voice, andTall Ed faded away.

  With faltering voice Pogosa began the all-important part of her tale:"The mine is on the head of the Wind River. Not far, but the way is veryhard. Pogosa will not be able to lead you. From where we are you crossthe valley to the mountain. You turn to your right and descend to asmall lake lying under a bank of snow. This bank is held up by a row ofblack rocks. Below this lake is a stream and a long hill of roundstones, all mixed together. On the west side of this ridge, just aboveanother small lake, you will find the mine."

  "Can it be approached from below?"

  "No, a great canyon and many cliffs are there--" Her voice ceasedabruptly. As suddenly as if life had been instantly withdrawn, she fellback upon her bed, and Eugene, released from the grasp of her hand, fledto Kelley, leaving Wetherell alone with the mystery.

  "She seems to have dropped into a sort of trance," he said to Kelley, ashe came back to the camp-fire.

  "Have you faith enough to follow those directions?" asked his partner.

  "I certainly have."

  Kelley laughed. "She may have a different set of directions to-morrownight. What do you say, Eugene? Pogos' all same fraud?"

  Eugene, cowering close to the fire, needed not speech to make evidenthis awe of the battle-field. "Injun spirits all round," he whispered."Hear 'em? They cry to Pogos'." He lifted a hand in warning.

  "It's only the wind in the dead pines," said Kelley.

  "Plenty Injun spirits. _They cry!_" persisted Eugene.

  "There speaks the primitive man," remarked Wetherell. "Our ancestors inIreland or Wales or Scotland all had the same awe and wonder of thedark--just as the negroes in the South believe that on certain nightsthe dead soldiers of Lee and Grant rise and march again."

  Kelley yawned. "Let's turn in and give the witches full swing. It'scertainly their kind of a night."

  Eugene spoke up. "Me sleep in your tepee. Pogos' scare me plenty hard."

  Ridicule could not affect him, and out of pity for his sufferingWetherell invited him to make down his bed in the doorway of his ownlittle tent.

  "I hope gran'ma won't have another fit in the middle of the night," saidKelley, sleepily. "If she does, you can interview her alone. I'm dead tothe world till dawn."

  Nothing happened after this save that an occasional nervous chillovercame Eugene and caused him to call out, "What's that?" in asuppressed tone. "You hear 'em voice?" he asked several times; to all ofwhich Wetherell replied, "It is the wind. Lie down; it is only thewind."

  Musing upon the singular business in the deep of the night, Wetherellconcluded that Pogosa, in a moment of emotional exaltation, andforeseeing her inability to guide him in person, had taken this methodof telling him truly where the mine lay.

  A mutter of voices in Pogosa's tepee interrupted his thought. "She isdelirious again," he thought, but the cold nipped, and he dreaded risingand dressing. As he hesitated he thought he could distinguish twovoices. Shaking Eugene, he whispered, "Listen, Eugene, tell me what isgoing on in Pogosa's tent."

  The half-breed needed no awakening. "She speak Sioux. I no speak Sioux.Some Sioux man's talk with her. Mebbe so her husband."

  Wetherell smiled and snuggled down in his bed. "All right, Eugene. IfIapi is there he will take care of her. Good night."

  * * * * *

  Morning broke gloriously clear, crisp, and frosty. The insects wereinert. The air had lost its heat and murk. The sun struck upon the sidesof the tepees with cheerful glow, and all was buoyant, normal, andbracing as the partners arose.

  Hurrying to Pogosa's tepee, Wetherell peeped in. "I wonder if sheremembers her performance?" he asked himself, but could not determine,since she refused to answer Eugene when he questioned her. She took thefood which Wetherell gave her, but did not eat or drink. Slowly she roseand hobbled away over the frosty grass toward the grave of Iapi.

  "That's a bad sign," observed Kelley. "What's she going to do now,Eugene?"

  "She's goin' put meat by stone. Mebbe so Injun spirits come eat."

  "Well, she'd better absorb some of the grub herself."

  "I think it's a beautiful act," professed Wetherell, lifting hisfield-glass to study her motions. "She's happy now. She and her deadsweetheart are together again."

  "I know Iapi once," Eugene volunteered. "He big man, very strong. Goodrider. One spring all people hungry. No game. Ponies weak. Iapi say gokill sheep. Washakie hear of killing sheep. Send warriors. Iapi here.Make battle. Kill mebbe so four, six Injun. Kill Iapi. Washakie sorrynow. His spirit cry in trees last night."

  "Better let Pogosa alone for the day. The sun is warming the rocks. Sheis no longer cold. We can leave our camp here and scout around on ourown account, returning this afternoon."

  They rode across the valley in the direction indicated by the Voice. Itwas a bewildering maze into which the prospector must descend in searchof the gold which is marked in yellow letters on some maps of the state.Several times did Wetherell drop into the basins, searching in vain forthe small lake and the black-walled bank of snow, but at last Eugene'seye detected faint indications of a trail.

  "We've struck the right road this time," exulted Wetherell. "Here isthe wall of black rocks." There was no snow, but he argued that, theseason having been extraordinarily warm and wet, this landmark hadtemporarily disappeared.

  "I am sure this is the lake and stream," declared Wetherell. "See wherethe snow has lain."

  "How far down do you figure the mine was?"

  "Some miles below, near a second lake. I'm afraid we can't make it thistrip. It will be dark by the time we reach camp. We'll just mark thespot and come back to-morrow."

  Kelley was for pushing on. "What matter if we don't get back?"

  "I'm thinking of Pogosa--"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "There's grub and shelter handy. She can comedown any time and feed."

  "Yes, but I hate to think of her all alone. She may be worse."

  "Send Eugene back. We don't need him now."

  Wetherell was almost as eager to go on as Kelley, but could not banishthe pathetic figure of Pogosa so easily. Now that all signs pointed tothe actual mine, his blood was fired with passion for the gold.

  "Eugene, go back and wait for us. See that Pogosa is comfortable. We'llreturn by dark."

  The word "dark" sent a shiver through Eugene. He shook his head. "No.I'm afraid. Spirits come again."

  "Come on," said Kelley. "You can't make him do that. If we hurry we canget down to the other lake and back by sunset. The squaw will take careof herself. She's used to being alone--besides, the spirits are withher."

  With the hope that it was not far, Wetherell yielded and set off downthe slope, following the bank of the stream. Soon the other lake couldbe seen not far below them, and, slipping, sliding amid a cascade ofpebbles, the gold-seekers, now glowing with certainty of success,plunged straight toward the pool. Two or three times this precipitousmethod of descent led them into blind alleys from which they wereobliged to climb, but at last, just as the sun went behind the imperialpeak, they came out upon the shore of the little tarn which layshallowly over a perfectly flat floor of cream-colored sand.

  "Here we are," called Kelley. "Now if your ghost proves a liar, Pogosamust answer for it. Here is the rocky ridge on the east--"

  "And here is trail," called Eugene, pointing to a faint line leadingstraight into the pines.

  Wetherell spurred his horse into this trail, and in less than fiveminutes came upon the mine. It was not a shining thing to look at, so hedid not shout. It was merely a cavernous opening in a high ledge of darkrock. On one side stood the sunken and decaying walls of a small loghut. The roof had fallen in, and vines filled the interior. In front ofthe door and all about, lumps of reddish, rusty-looking rock werescattered. A big stone hollowed in the middle showed that it had beenused as a mortar
for crushing the ore. The tunnel itself was irregularin shape and almost high enough to admit a horse. It dipped slightlyfrom the threshold.

  Tall Ed spoke first, in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Well, let'ssee what she's like."

  "I trust Pogosa. Up goes our poster," replied Wetherell.

  "All right. You put up the sign while I examine this ore."

  With his hatchet Wetherell set to work hewing a square face on a tree.He was putting the first tack in his placard when Kelley walked overtoward him, and with exaggeratedly quiet voice said:

  "Just look at that, will you?"

  Wetherell took the lump of ore and thrilled to the sight. It needed noexpert to discern the free gold which lay in thin scales and sparklinglumps all through the rock.

  "I want to yell," said Kelley, and his voice trembled.

  "Don't do it!" said Wetherell. "Let's hurry back to camp and move downhere. I won't feel safe till we do."

  "I don't leave this place to-night, Andy. You and Eugene go back tocamp. I'll stay here and hold down the find."

  Wetherell, tremulous with excitement and weak in the knees, remountedhis horse and set off for camp. It was a long climb, and the latter partof it tedious by reason of the growing darkness and the weariness of thehorses. Wetherell's pony would not lead and was fairly at the end of hispowers, but at last they reached their camping-place. Wetherell's firstthought was of Pogosa. She was nowhere in sight and her tepee was empty.

  "She on hill," declared Eugene. "Lying down on stone. Injun cry therethree days."

  "The poor old thing! She'll be famished and chilled to the bone. It's ashame, our leaving her alone this way. But that's the way of the man inlove with gold. Greed destroys all that is tender and loyal in a man. Iam going right up and bring her down. Eugene, you start a fire and putsome coffee on to boil."

  With a heart full of pity the repentant gold-seeker hurried toward thecairn. The crumpled little figure, so tragic in its loneliness andhelpless grief, was lying where he had left it. She did not stir at thesound of his footsteps, nor when he laid his hand softly on hershoulder.

  "Come, Pogosa," he said, with gentle authority. "Come, coffee, firewaiting. We found the mine. You're rich. You shall go back to yourpeople. Come!"

  Something in the feel of her shoulder, in the unyielding rigidity of herpose, startled and stilled him. He shook her questioningly. She wasstark as stone. Her body had been cold for many hours. Her spirit waswith Iapi.

  THE OUTLAW

  _--still seeks sanctuary in the green timber, finding the storms of the granite peaks less to be feared than the fury of his neighbors._