In crossing an open space to join Jack and the rancher, Ken abruptly halted. He directed the attention of his companions to moccasin prints, plainly visible in the snow.
“And we thought we were the first to reach this pass!” he exclaimed.
The prints, the Scouts decided, had been made within a short time—but by whom? They were fairly certain that Walz had been wearing shoes and not moccasins.
“Any Indians living on Crazy Mountain?” Hap Livingston asked the rancher.
“Not that I ever heard.”
Led by Warner, the Scouts started soberly down through the pass. Now that their objective was close, they wondered all the more at the dangers. Walz and Ranier, of course, were known hazards who, even though they might be hostile, could be dealt with. But what of the unknown inhabitant of the mountain?
Thoughts were tumbling without pattern in Jack’s mind, when Warner up ahead suddenly halted. Pulling himself up short, Jack saw that the rancher was staring fixedly at something.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Without replying, the rancher moved aside so that the others could see.
A stunted pine was growing out of a rock at a rakish angle and dangling from its twisted lower limb was a skeleton.