Scotch was alarmed by the story Frank had told of the
encounter with the Blackfeet, and he was for leaving that vicinity as
soon as possible.

"Not till I get a photograph of real wild buffalo," said the boy,
stiffly.

Old Rocks grunted derisively.

"I reckon you came as nigh it ter-day as ye will at all," he said.
"You've clicked yer old machine at everything from one end o' ther park
to t'other, an' I ain't seen nary picter yit."

"They have not been developed."

"Woosh! Whatever is thet?"

Frank explained, and the guide listened, with an expression of derision
on his face.

"I'll allow you don't know northin' abaout takin' picters," drawled the
man. "I hed my picter took up at Billings last winter, an' ther man as
took it didn't hev ter go through no such fussin' as thet."

"How do you know?"

"Wa-al, I know."

"But how do you know?"

"I jest know, thet's how!"

Frank laughed.

"You are like some other people who know everything about anything they
don't know anything about."

That was quite enough to start the old fellow, and he seemed ready to
fight at the drop of the hat; but, at this moment, something happened to
divert his attention.

Out of the darkness stalked a man, who calmly and deliberately advanced
toward the party.

"Halt thar!" cried Old Rocks, catching up a rifle and covering the
stranger.

The man did not pay the least attention to the command, but continued to
advance.

"Halt, or I'll shoot!" shouted the guide.

Still the unknown refused to obey, and, to the bewilderment of Old
Rocks, he walked straight up to the muzzle of the weapon, where he
stopped, saying:

"I knew you wouldn't shoot. If you had, you could not have killed me.
Nothing can kill me, because I have sought death everywhere, and I have
not been able to find it. It is he who flees from death who finds it
first."

Then he sat down.

"Wa-al, dern me!" gasped Old Rocks. "I dunno why I didn't soak yer; but
thar wuz somethin' held me back."

"It was the hand of fate."

The man was dressed roughly, but he carried a handsome rifle. His
wide-brimmed hat was slouched over his eyes, so the expression of his
face could not have been seen very well, even if it had not been covered
by a full brown beard. His hair was long and unkempt.

Having seated himself on the ground, he sat and stared into the fire for
some moments before speaking again. Finally he turned a bit, saying:

"Who was singing here a short time