o hear up
in those fastnesses was hateful to him. He and the Indian were friends.
That fierce foe had no enmity toward the lone hunter. But there hid
somewhere in the forest a gang of bad men, sheep-thieves, whom Dale did
not want to meet.

As he started out upon the slope, a sudden flaring of the afterglow of
sunset flooded down from Old Baldy, filling the valley with lights and
shadows, yellow and blue, like the radiance of the sky. The pools in the
curves of the brook shone darkly bright. Dale's gaze swept up and down
the valley, and then tried to pierce the black shadows across the brook
where the wall of spruce stood up, its speared and spiked crest against
the pale clouds. The wind began to moan in the trees and there was a
feeling of rain in the air. Dale, striking a trail, turned his back to
the fading afterglow and strode down the valley.

With night at hand and a rain-storm brewing, he did not head for his
own camp, some miles distant, but directed his steps toward an old log
cabin. When he reached it darkness had almost set in. He approached with
caution. This cabin, like the few others scattered in the valleys, might
harbor Indians or a bear or a panther. Nothing, however, appeared to be
there. Then Dale studied the clouds driving across the sky, and he felt
the cool dampness of a fine, misty rain on his face. It would rain off
and on during the night. Whereupon he entered the cabin.

And the next moment he heard quick hoof-beats of trotting horses.
Peering out, he saw dim, moving forms in the darkness, quite close
at hand. They had approached against the wind so that sound had been
deadened. Five horses with riders, Dale made out--saw them loom close.
Then he heard rough voices. Quickly he turned to feel in the dark for a
ladder he knew led to a loft; and finding it, he quickly mounted, taking
care not to make a noise with his rifle, and lay down upon the floor
of brush and poles. Scarcely had he done so when heavy steps, with
accompaniment of clinking spurs, passed through the door below into the
cabin.

"Wal, Beasley, are you here?" queried a loud voice.

There was no reply. The man below growled under his breath, and again
the spurs jingled.

"Fellars, Beasley ain't here yet," he called. "Put the hosses under the
shed. We'll wait."

"Wait, huh!" came a harsh reply. "Mebbe all night--an' we got nuthin' to
eat."

"Shut up, Moze. Reckon you're no good for anythin' but eatin'. Put them
hosses away