ow could take care of any casual nat'rel fire that
came boomin' along, and go two better every time! Why, I don't believe
there was any fire; it was all a piece of that infernal ignis fatuus
phantasmagoriana that was played upon us down there!"

With the laugh that followed they started forward again, relapsing into
the silence of tired men at the end of a long journey. Even their few
remarks were interjectional, or reminiscent of topics whose freshness
had been exhausted with the day. The gaining light which seemed to
come from the ground about them rather than from the still, overcast
sky above, defined their individuality more distinctly. The man who
had first spoken, and who seemed to be their leader, wore the virgin
unshaven beard, mustache, and flowing hair of the Californian pioneer,
and might have been the eldest; the second speaker was close shaven,
thin, and energetic; the third, with the pleasant voice, in height,
litheness, and suppleness of figure appeared to be the youngest of the
party. The trail had now become a grayish streak along the level
table-land they were following, which also had the singular effect of
appearing lighter than the surrounding landscape, yet of plunging into
utter darkness on either side of its precipitous walls. Nevertheless,
at the end of an hour the leader rose in his stirrups with a sigh of
satisfaction.

"There's the light in Collinson's Mill! There's nothing gaudy and
spectacular about that, boys, eh? No, sir! it's a square, honest
beacon that a man can steer by. We'll be there in twenty minutes." He
was pointing into the darkness below the already descending trail.
Only a pioneer's eye could have detected the few pin-pricks of light in
the impenetrable distance, and it was a signal proof of his leadership
that the others accepted it without seeing it. "It's just ten o'clock,"
he continued, holding a huge silver watch to his eye; "we've wasted an
hour on those blamed spooks yonder!"

"We weren't off the trail more than ten minutes, Uncle Dick," protested
the pleasant voice.

"All right, my son; go down there if you like and fetch out your Witch
of Endor, but as for me, I'm going to throw myself the other side of
Collinson's lights. They're good enough for me, and a blamed sight
more stationary!"

The grade was very steep, but they took it, California fashion, at a
gallop, being genuinely good riders, and using their brains as well as
their spurs in the understa