top of this pass an' shoot down on the wagon-trains."

Later in the day he drew my attention to a mountain standing all by itself.
It was shaped like a cone, green with trees almost to the summit, and
ending in a bare stone peak that had a flat top.

"Starvation Peak," he said. "That name's three hundred years old, dates
back to the time the Spaniards owned this land. There's a story about it
that's likely true enough. Some Spaniards were attacked by Indians an'
climbed to the peak, expectin' to be better able to defend themselves up
there. The Indians camped below the peak an' starved the Spaniards. Stuck
there till they starved to death! That's where it got its name."

"Those times you tell of must have been great," I said, regretfully. "I'd
like to have been here then. But isn't the country all settled now? Aren't
the Indians dead? There's no more fighting?"

"It's not like it used to be, but there's still warm places in the West.
Not that the Indians break out often any more. But bad men are almost as
bad, if not so plentiful, as when Billy the Kid run these parts. I saw two
men shot an' another knifed jest before I went East to St. Louis."

"Where?"

"In Arizona. Holston is the station where I get off, an' it happened near
there."

"Holston is where I'm going."

"You don't say. Well, I'm glad to meet you, young man. My name's Buell, an'