"You speak English?" said Ralph eagerly.
"Little bit," the old man said, shaping the words with difficulty. "I no see white man, two, three winter. I forget, me." Having said it, he waited with a courteous air for Ralph to speak again. Only deep in his eyes could be seen the working of his harrowing anxiety.
"I am friendly," Ralph said quickly. "I won't hurt anybody."
The old man shrugged deprecatingly. "Not afraid of hurt," he said. He paused, searching for English words to convey what he wished. "We alone here long time," he said. "Forget strangers. Stranger comes—Wah! It is lak sun fall down from the sky!"
Ralph began to understand the effect of his sudden appearance.
"For what you come here?" the old man asked.
Ralph was nonplussed. "Why—why just to see the place," he said.
The old man bowed. His manners were beautiful; the kind of manners, Ralph dimly apprehended, that come only from real goodness of heart. He had never been a big man, and now he was bent and shaky, yet he had dignity. The manifold fine wrinkles of kindliness were about his eyes. He was clad in an old capote made out of a blanket. Around his forehead he wore a black band to keep the straggling gray locks out of his face.
"How you come here?" he asked.
"Through the cave under the mountains," Ralph answered.