sections of the redwood and pine. From its chimney, smoke was curling
upward.

The boys were too hungry to pause and reflect upon the possibility of a
savage inmate; they scrambled up the bank and ran along the ledge to the
hut. The door was of hide. They knocked. There was no response. They
flung the door aside and entered. No one was in the solitary room of the
hut, but over a fire in the deep chimney place hung a large pot, in
which something of agreeable savour bubbled.

Roldan glanced about. "I'd rather be invited," he said doubtfully.

But Adan had gone straight for the pot. He lifted it off the fire,
fetched three broken plates and battered knives and forks from a shelf,
and helped his friends and himself. Then he piously crossed himself and
fell to. It was not in human necessities to withstand the fragrance of
that steaming mess of squirrel, and the boys had disposed of the entire
potful before they raised their eyes again. When they did, Rafael, who
sat opposite the door, made a slight exclamation, and the others turned
about quickly. A man stood there.

He was quite unlike any one they had ever seen. A tall lank man with
rounded shoulders, lean leather-like cheeks, a preternatural length of
jaw, drab hair and chin whiskers, and deeply-set china-blue eyes, made
up a type uncommon in the Californias, that land of priest, soldier,
caballero, and Indian. He was clad in coyote skins, and carried a gun in
his hand, a brace of rabbits slung over one shoulder. He did not speak
for some seconds, and when he did, it was to make a remark that was not
understood. He said: "Well, I'll be durned!"