"There is a genuine hermit for you," Mr. Britton remarked, as the man took his departure after agreeing to come to the cabin once a day to do whatever might be needed.
"Who is he?" Darrell asked.
"No one knows. He goes by the name of 'Peter,' but nothing is known of his real name or history. He has lived in these mountains for thirty years and has not visited a city or town of any size in that time. He is a trapper, but acts as guide during the summers. He is very popular with tourist and hunting parties that come to the mountains, but nothing will induce him to leave his haunts except as he occasionally goes to some small station for supplies."
"Where does he live?"
"In a cabin about half-way down the trail. He is a good cook, a faithful man every way, but you will find him very reticent. He is one of the many in this country whose past is buried out of sight."
Mr. Britton then led the way to two smaller rooms,—a kitchen, equipped with a small stove, table, and cooking utensils, and a sleeping-apartment, its two bunks piled with soft blankets and wolf-skins.
As Darrell proceeded to disrobe his attention was suddenly attracted by an object in one corner of the room which he was unable to distinguish clearly in the dim light. Upon going over to examine it more closely, what was his astonishment to see a large crucifix of exquisite design and workmanship. As he turned towards Mr. Britton the latter smiled to see the bewilderment depicted on his face.
"You did not expect to find such a souvenir of old Rome in a mountain cabin, did you?" he asked.
"Perhaps not," Darrell admitted; "but that of itself is not what so greatly surprises me. Are you a——" He paused abruptly, without finishing the question.