“I don’t know whether I had better go in there or not,” thought Oscar, facing about in his saddle to make sure that the ill-looking fellow who had obstructed his path in the sage-brush was out of sight. “If he followed this road, he must have come out of this ravine, and who knows but there may be more like him hid away among these trees and bushes? But who cares if there are?” he added, slackening the reins again. “If I am going to be a hunter, I may as well begin to face danger one time as another, for it is something I cannot avoid. I’ll never start out by myself again without my rifle or shot-gun.”
The path was quite as plainly defined at this point as it was in the sage-brush, and of course Oscar had no difficulty in following it. Neither did he have any fears of being lost in the labyrinth before him, for all he had to do when he had ridden far enough was to turn about and the path would lead him back to the sage-brush again.
He kept on down the ravine for a mile or more, peering into the dark woods which had so often echoed to the war-cry of the hostile Sioux, wondering all the while who the strange horseman was and where he lived, and finally he began to think of retracing his steps, but just then his ear caught the sound of falling water a short distance in advance of him.
He had heard much of the trout-streams of this wild region, and his desire to see one induced him to keep on, little dreaming that when he found the stream he would find something else to interest him.
When Oscar had ridden a few rods farther he came within sight of the falls, the music of whose waters had attracted his attention, and also in sight of a smouldering camp fire. Seated on a log in front of it, with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands, was a figure almost as forlorn and dilapidated in appearance as was the horseman he had seen in the sage-brush.
He was gazing steadily into the fire and seemed to be very much engrossed with his own thoughts; but when the sound of the pony’s hoofs fell upon his ear he sprang up and gazed at Oscar as if he were fascinated.
The camp, upon which our hero had so unexpectedly stumbled, was located in the mouth of a ravine that branched off from the one he had followed from the foot of the ridge.
The fire was built upon the opposite bank of the stream, which here ran across the main ravine to mingle its waters a few miles farther on with those of the Platte, and behind it was a clear space a dozen or more feet in diameter that served as the camp.
Various well-known signs, which did not escape his quick eye, told Oscar that the camp had been occupied for several days, and yet nothing in the way of a shelter had been erected, the campers, no doubt, being fully satisfied with the protection afforded them by the overhanging cliff and the thick cluster of evergreens that grew at its base.
And there were other things missing, too, which Oscar had never failed to see in every camp whose inmates had any respect for their health and comfort. The supply of wood was exhausted, and although there was an axe handy the campers had sat musing by the fire until it had almost burned itself out, being too lazy to chop a fresh supply of fuel.