Though I ran and walked as rapidly as possible, it was half an hour before I struck the ridge which shut out the lake from sight of the bay. Then I knew that in spite of my ignorance of the woods, I had gone straight to my goal. I went down the farther side at once, keeping myself hidden in the brush as much as possible in case Madigan’s crew should be on the lookout, and finding the trail along the river I went straight up toward the miners’ camp.
A man was waiting for me as I stepped from the alder-brush into the clearing about the mine. My clumsy traveling had warned of my approach and he lay behind a pile of dirt before a shaft, a large blue pistol pointing straight down the trail where I emerged.
“Don’t shoot!” I cried running toward him, with my hands in the air. “I’m a friend. I’ve come to warn you that a man named Brack with a crew of cutthroats is on his way to raid your camp.”
The mention of Brack’s name had a pitiful effect upon the man. He leaped back, his eyes shifty with fright, and made as if to run back to the cabins. He caught himself, however, and swung his pistol steadily on the trail behind me.
He was an old man with a patriarchal beard and a gentle face. When he saw that no one was following me he said—
“Come with me, stranger; we’ll get Bill.”
He retreated, walking backward, covering me and the trail with his weapon, while I followed. Arriving at the first shaft, still keeping his eyes on me, he called—
“Oh, Bill!”
A tall, laughing youth, with a soft, curly beard, came clambering out of the mine in response to his summons. At the sight of me his hand flashed to the pistol on his hip.
“Tell it to Bill, stranger,” said the patriarch. “Bill, the Laughing Devil’s back and this gentleman says he’s layin’ to come an’ clean us pronto.”