“Up hyar, a piece—in a kentry called the Land of Silence.”
“Ah! the Land of Silence,” and Burt slowly shook his head. “I’ve heerd on that place.”
The Canadians looked incredulous and grinned. Seeing them in the act, the guide, nettled, burst out:
“Yes, and yer may jist bet yer hides I don’t want ter see it ag’in, now. By thunder! ef I warn’t skeered I never was, and every one of ye’s heerd of Simpson, the guide—every one of ye know ’t I ain’t no coward, neither.”
“What did it look like?” asked Kit Duncan.
The guide slowly dismounted, and flinging his arm over his saddle, said:
“It war the ghost of the Trailer.”
“The Trailer!” echoed Burt.
“Yes, the Trailer. Jest the same as he allus war, in his peaked hat and black feather, jest the same as ever he war, armed ter kill, he rode his old black hoss right by me, not ten feet off. Gee-whittaker! I ked hev touched him.”
“Did he speak?” asked Louis Robidoux, in a quizzical manner.