Part 27 (1/2)

”No, but it is very hard to find.”

”Can't you trace the trail on a piece of paper for me?” he inquired.

”No, Pogosa cannot make the road. She can only tell you. Send the other white man away.”

”Vamoose!” Wetherell called with a note of triumph in his voice, and Tall Ed faded away.

With faltering voice Pogosa began the all-important part of her tale: ”The mine is on the head of the Wind River. Not far, but the way is very hard. Pogosa will not be able to lead you. From where we are you cross the valley to the mountain. You turn to your right and descend to a small lake lying under a bank of snow. This bank is held up by a row of black rocks. Below this lake is a stream and a long hill of round stones, all mixed together. On the west side of this ridge, just above another small lake, you will find the mine.”

”Can it be approached from below?”

”No, a great canon and many cliffs are there--” Her voice ceased abruptly. As suddenly as if life had been instantly withdrawn, she fell back upon her bed, and Eugene, released from the grasp of her hand, fled to Kelley, leaving Wetherell alone with the mystery.

”She seems to have dropped into a sort of trance,” he said to Kelley, as he came back to the camp-fire.

”Have you faith enough to follow those directions?” asked his partner.

”I certainly have.”

Kelley laughed. ”She may have a different set of directions to-morrow night. What do you say, Eugene? Pogos' all same fraud?”

Eugene, cowering close to the fire, needed not speech to make evident his awe of the battle-field. ”Injun spirits all round,” he whispered.

”Hear 'em? They cry to Pogos'.” He lifted a hand in warning.

”It's only the wind in the dead pines,” said Kelley.

”Plenty Injun spirits. _They cry!_” persisted Eugene.

”There speaks the primitive man,” remarked Wetherell. ”Our ancestors in Ireland or Wales or Scotland all had the same awe and wonder of the dark--just as the negroes in the South believe that on certain nights the dead soldiers of Lee and Grant rise and march again.”

Kelley yawned. ”Let's turn in and give the witches full swing. It's certainly their kind of a night.”

Eugene spoke up. ”Me sleep in your tepee. Pogos' scare me plenty hard.”

Ridicule could not affect him, and out of pity for his suffering Wetherell invited him to make down his bed in the doorway of his own little tent.

”I hope gran'ma won't have another fit in the middle of the night,” said Kelley, sleepily. ”If she does, you can interview her alone. I'm dead to the world till dawn.”

Nothing happened after this save that an occasional nervous chill overcame Eugene and caused him to call out, ”What's that?” in a suppressed tone. ”You hear 'em voice?” he asked several times; to all of which Wetherell replied, ”It is the wind. Lie down; it is only the wind.”

Musing upon the singular business in the deep of the night, Wetherell concluded that Pogosa, in a moment of emotional exaltation, and foreseeing her inability to guide him in person, had taken this method of telling him truly where the mine lay.

A mutter of voices in Pogosa's tepee interrupted his thought. ”She is delirious again,” he thought, but the cold nipped, and he dreaded rising and dressing. As he hesitated he thought he could distinguish two voices. Shaking Eugene, he whispered, ”Listen, Eugene, tell me what is going on in Pogosa's tent.”

The half-breed needed no awakening. ”She speak Sioux. I no speak Sioux.

Some Sioux man's talk with her. Mebbe so her husband.”

Wetherell smiled and snuggled down in his bed. ”All right, Eugene. If Iapi is there he will take care of her. Good night.”

Morning broke gloriously clear, crisp, and frosty. The insects were inert. The air had lost its heat and murk. The sun struck upon the sides of the tepees with cheerful glow, and all was buoyant, normal, and bracing as the partners arose.