ws, watching.

The mountaineer laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear. "Listen," he
said. "You bin a long time out West. You bin in the mountains a good
while. Listen."

There was silence. Sinnet listened intently. He heard the faint drip,
drip, drip of water, and looked steadily at the back wall of the room.

"There--rock?" he said, and jerked his head toward the sound.

"You got good ears," answered the other, and drew aside a blanket which
hung on the back wall of the room. A wooden trough was disclosed hanging
under a ledge of rock, and water dripped into it softly, slowly.

"Almost providential, that rock," remarked Sinnet. "You've got your well
at your back door. Food--but you can't go far, and keep your eye on the
Bend too," he nodded toward the door, beyond which lay the frost-touched
valley in the early morning light of autumn.

"Plenty of black squirrels and pigeons come here on account of the springs
like this one, and I get 'em with a bow and arrow. I didn't call myself
Robin Hood and Daniel Boone not for nothin' when I was knee-high to a
grasshopper." He drew from a rough cupboard some cold game, and put it on
the table, with some scones and a pannikin of water. Then he brought out a
small jug of whiskey and placed it beside his visitor. They began to eat.

"How d'ye cook without fire?" asked Sinnet.

"Fire's all right at nights. He'd never camp 'twixt here an' Juniper Bend
at night. The next camp's six miles north from here. He'd only come down
the valley daytimes. I studied it all out, and it's a dead sure thing.
From daylight till dusk I'm on to him--I got the trail in my eye."

He showed his teeth like a wild dog, as his look swept the valley. There
was something almost revolting in his concentrated ferocity.

Sinnet's eyes half closed as he watched the mountaineer, and the long,
scraggy hands and whipcord neck seemed to interest him greatly. He looked
at his own slim, brown hands with a half smile, and it was almost as cruel
as the laugh of the other. Yet it had, too, a knowledge and an
understanding which gave it humanity.

"You're sure he did it?" Sinnet asked, presently, after drinking a very
small portion of liquor, and tossing some water from the pannikin after
it. "You're sure Greevy killed your boy, Buck?"

"My name's Buckmaster, ain't it--Jim Buckmaster? Don't I know my own name?
It's as sure as that. My boy said it was Greevy when he was dying. He told
Bill Ricketts so, and B