There was no trace of habitation, yet the voices were those of some
monotonous occupation, and Lance distinctly heard through them the click
of crockery and the ring of some household utensil. It appeared to be
the interjectional, half listless, half perfunctory, domestic dialogue
of an old man and a girl, of which the words were unintelligible. Their
voices indicated the solitude of the mountain, but without sadness; they
were mysterious without being awe-inspiring. They might have uttered
the dreariest commonplaces, but, in their vast isolation, they seemed
musical and eloquent. Lance drew his first sigh,--they had suggested
dinner.

Careless as his nature was, he was too cautious to risk detection in
broad daylight. He contented himself for the present with endeavoring to
locate that particular part of the depths from which the voices seemed
to rise. It was more difficult, however, to select some other way of
penetrating it than by the stage road. "They're bound to have a fire
or show a light when it's dark," he reasoned, and, satisfied with that
reflection, lay down again. Presently he began to amuse himself by
tossing some silver coins in the air. Then his attention was directed to
a spur of the Coast Range which had been sharply silhouetted against
the cloudless western sky. Something intensely white, something so
small that it was scarcely larger than the silver coin in his hand, was
appearing in a slight cleft of the range.

While he looked it gradually filled and obliterated the cleft. In
another moment the whole serrated line of mountain had disappeared. The
dense, dazzling white, encompassing host began to pour over and down
every ravine and pass of the coast. Lance recognized the sea-fog, and
knew that scarcely twenty miles away lay the ocean--and safety! The