ck," he said.

Our strange host looked up at the rifle, then searchingly at Big Pete.

"I don't mind showing it to you, but you must not touch it," he said
finally.

"I reckon I wouldn't hurt it none. I've handled guns before," said Big
Pete shortly, and I could see that he was piqued at the man's attitude.

"Guess you wouldn't, but I've made it a rule never to let strange hands
touch that rifle," said the strange man, and there was a grimness about
his tone that forbade quibbling.

"Huh, well I can't say as perhaps yore not right about yore shootin'
hardware at that," said Pete. Then after glancing at it again, he added,
"a hunter's gun and a woodsman's ax should never be trusted in strange
hands. Bet a ten spot it's a Patrick Mullen. Hain't it?"

The name of my kinsman, the famous gunsmith, brought a sudden
realization that Mullen was my own family name.

The mention of the gunsmith seemed also to have a curious effect on the
old man. His face grew red under the tan and his brow wrinkled and I
could see his cold blue eyes scrutinizing Big Pete closely. Finally he
said bluntly,

"It is, and it's worth a thousand dollars."

"A thousand dollars!" I exclaimed, "a thousand dollars?"

"Yes," cried the old man almost fiercely, "yes, yes, and it is my gun.
He gave it to me, he did--to me and not to Donald. He--"

He stood up suddenly as if he intended to stride over and seize the gun,
to protect it from us but as quickly sat down again and buried his face
in his hands, and I could see him biting his lips as if he were
attempting to control his feeling.

As for me, quite suddenly a great light seemed to dawn. This strange old
man was mentioning names that were familiar--that meant worlds to me. I
leaned toward him eagerly. Big Pete stood quietly listening, a silent
but interested spectator.

"Did you know Donald Mullen, a brother to the famous gunsmith? Tell me,
did you know him? I have come all the way--"

I stopped in wonder. Never in all my life do I ever expect to witness
such a pitiful expression of anguish pictured so vividly on the human
countenance as it was on the face of the Wild Hunter.

"What," he whispered, "did you know him?"

"He was my father," I answered simply.

For a moment the Wild Hunter looked at me intently, then said, "I
believe you, you favor him somewhat." He then came forward as if to
shake my hand, but changed his mind and sat down with a forced and wan
smile.

"Did I know Don