line of trees and underbrush, till he stood on the summit. He
approached each ridge with extreme caution, as if about to storm the
barricade of an enemy; thus he traveled over the range without
coming on the traces of his mysterious visitor. Not pausing at the
crevice, he went on to the outer northern ridge of the range, and
lying flat among some high rocks, looked down.

He counted seventeen men near the spot from which he had removed
the wagon. Fifteen were on horseback and two riderless horses
explained the presence of the two on foot. All of them had drawn
up in a circle about the heap of stones that covered the woman's
burial-place. Of the seventeen, sixteen were Indians, painted and
adorned for the war-path. The remaining man, he who stood at the
heap of stones beside the chief, was a white man, and at the first
glance, Willock recognized him; he was the dead woman's husband,
Henry Gledware.

Brick's mind was perplexed with vain questionings: Was it Gledware
who had visited his dugout, or the Indians? Did the pipe and
tobacco indicate a peace-offering? What was the relationship
between Gledware and these Indians? Was he their prisoner, and were
they about to burn him upon the heap of stones? He did not seem
alarmed. Had he made friends with the chief by promising to conduct
him to the deserted wagon? If so, what would they think in regard
to the wagon's disappearance? Had the dugout persuaded them that
there was no other retreat in the mountains?

While Brick watched in agitated suspense, several Indians leaped to
the ground at a signal from the chief and advanced toward the white
man. The chief turned his back upon the company, and started toward