For nearly an hour he kept on without once pausing; and at the end of that time there rose before him a high, jagged hill, crowned with splintered rocks, and stunted trees, bathed in the silver rays of the newly risen moon.
He was close upon the dwelling-place of him he sought.
In the heart of the hill, beneath the jagged rocks, the Indian Wizard had his home.
Both the white hunters and the red gave the spot a wide berth, for they stood greatly in awe of the strange being who haunted the spot.
Of the former, none had ever held converse with him except the scout, who now stood almost at the threshold of his den.
The red-men consulted him, when any thing of great moment was at stake; but there was not one of them who was not glad when his back was turned upon him.
Sometimes they brought their sick to him to heal, for he was reputed a great Medicine, and his skill was often of great avail.
All this the scout knew well, yet he felt no fear as he approached the spot. He had no fear of the unearthly powers which some said the Wizard possessed.
Arrived at the foot of the hill, the scout paused, and glanced up at the moonlit rocks above him.
No living thing was to be seen, and a silence like that of death brooded around the spot.