At the end of an hour Cromwell and the engineer had agreed that these stations were day's marches and the rests camping places. In short, it was two and a half "sleeps" to what he wanted to show them,—a prospect, a gold mine maybe,—and so Cromwell and the English-American detached themselves and set out at the heels of the mute Cree in search of something.
On the morning of the third day the old Indian could scarcely control himself, so eager was he to be off.
All through the morning the white men followed him in silence. Noon came, and still the Indian pushed on.
At two in the afternoon, rounding the shoulder of a bit of highland overlooking a beautiful valley, they came suddenly upon a half-breed boy playing with a wild goose that had been tamed.
Down in the valley a cabin stood, and over the valley a small drove of cattle were grazing.
Suddenly from behind the hogan came the weird wail of a Colorado canary, who would have been an ass in Absalom's time.
They asked the half-breed boy his name, and he shook his head. They asked for his father, and he frowned.
The mute old Indian took up a pick, and they followed him up the slope. Presently he stopped at a stake upon which they could still read the faint pencil-marks:—
C.M.
M. Co.
L't'd
The old Indian pointed to the ground with an expression which looked to the white men like an interrogation. Cromwell nodded, and the Indian began to dig. Cromwell brought a shovel, and they began sinking a shaft.