"Wall, no. But things are most deceivin' in the night. I don't like to doubt yer word, young man. But it's so mysterious. I can't savvey it nohow."
"Are there any Indians in this locality, Dan?" Grey inquired.
"Yes, a few scatterin' ones here an' thar, though most of 'em are off in another direction. But it wasn't an Injun, pardner, ye may set yer mind to rest on that score."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"Bah, the Injuns in these diggin's wouldn't stoop to sich things. When they're on the warpath it's different. But Buckskin Dan 'ud be the last man they'd injure. He's been too good a friend to 'em, an' they wouldn't tech 'im."
"It must be a white man, then," Grey replied, "and if ever I get my hands on his measly skull he'll need to go on the stocks for repairs. God! How I'd like to have him here now!"
The trapper looked with admiration upon the sturdy form before him. He had little doubt of the outcome should Grey meet with the assailant.
"Come, pardner," he commanded, "you lay down now an' git a few winks of sleep. I've had enough fer an old man, so I'll jist stir up the fire a bit an' keep watch."
"But should I not stay awake, too? That snake may come back."
"Let 'im come. I'd like to set me eyes on 'im jist fer an instant. Old Spit-death here knows a thing or two," and Dan fondly stroked the barrel of his rifle. "Many a foamin', frothin' grizzly she's lulled to sleep. Oh, no, don't ye worry. Jist curl up thar, an' fergit everythin'."