those wild hills. So he shook himself free of the question, which
passed from his mind only with a transient wonder as to who it was
that had told of him to the old mountaineer, and had so paved his
way for an investigation--and then he wheeled suddenly in his
saddle. The bushes had rustled gently behind him and out from them
stepped an extraordinary human shape--wearing a coon-skin cap,
belted with two rows of big cartridges, carrying a big Winchester
over one shoulder and a circular tube of brass in his left hand.
With his right leg straight, his left thigh drawn into the hollow
of his saddle and his left hand on the rump of his horse, Hale
simply stared, his eyes dropping by and by from the pale-blue eyes
and stubbly red beard of the stranger, down past the cartridge-
belts to the man's feet, on which were moccasins--with the heels
forward! Into what sort of a world had he dropped!

"So nary a soul can tell which way I'm going," said the red-haired
stranger, with a grin that loosed a hollow chuckle far behind it.

"Would you mind telling me what difference it can make to me which
way you are going?" Every moment he was expecting the stranger to
ask his name, but again that chuckle came.

"It makes a mighty sight o' difference to some folks."

"But none to me."

"I hain't wearin' 'em fer you. I know YOU."

"Oh, you do." The stranger suddenly lowered his Winchester and
turned his face, with his ear cocked like an animal. There was