his strange visitor.

Cameron began his day, grateful for the solitude that was now unbroken,
for the canyon-furrowed and cactus-spired scene that now showed no
sign of life. He traveled southwest, never straying far from the
dry stream bed; and in a desultory way, without eagerness, he hunted
for signs of gold.

The work was toilsome, yet the periods of rest in which he indulged
were not taken because of fatigue. He rested to look, to listen,
to feel. What the vast silent world meant to him had always been
a mystical thing, which he felt in all its incalculable power, but
never understood.

That day, while it was yet light, and he was digging in a moist
white-bordered wash for water, he was brought sharply up by hearing
the crack of hard hoofs on stone. There down the canyon came a man
and a burro. Cameron recognized them.

"Hello, friend," called the man, halting. "Our trails crossed again.
That's good."

"Hello," replied Cameron, slowly. "Any mineral sign to-day?"

"No."

They made camp together, ate their frugal meal, smoked a pipe, and
rolled in their blankets without exchanging many words. In the
morning the same reticence, the same aloofness characterized the
manner of both. But Cameron's companion, when he had packed his