"Oh, señor, you were observing that it looked as if my present route for the goldfields would bring me out in the Sacramento Valley, or at Vancouver's. Are you sure?"
"Well, I am no resident; but, coming down from the North, few signs of gold bearing tracts met my humble vision."
"Did you come through the Yellowstone Basin?" inquired the captain.
"What the Canadians called the 'Infernal Regions,' and the trappers the 'Fireholes?' Well, not what you can call through. I did—as I do when a big band of Indians cross my trail—I skirted it. They say it is the devil's own home on earth; and I have no wish, prematurely, to soak in a sulphur bath!"
"Mr. Dearborn, are you the man to render me still a further service?"
"I want to know, you know," said the Englishman, humorously.
"¡Diablo! You are in no hurry to contract yourself into a bargain, señor;" commented Mr. Kidd, with a bitter grin.
"Being a foreigner—"
"It's prudent. I wish I had always been as slow to plunge at your age! Tell me, where were you going when we met?"
"Southerly: I came to hunt. But the presence of Indians makes me fear that a solitary man would be hunted here."