'Now who the hell did that for me?' cried out the man angrily. 'Look here; he's killed a beef for a couple of steaks. He's taken that and left the rest for the buzzards. The low-down, hog-hearted son of a scurvy coyote.'
Helen held back, frightened at what she read in his face. Her father came up with her and demanded:
'What is it? What's wrong?'
'Some one has killed one of his cows,' she whispered, catching hold of his arm. 'I believe he would kill the man who did it.'
Howard was looking about him for signs to tell whence the marauder had come, whither gone. He picked up a fresh rib bone, that had been hacked from its place with a heavy knife and then gnawed and broken as by a wolf's savage teeth. He noted something else; he went to it hurriedly. Upon a conspicuous rock, held in place by a smaller stone, was a small rawhide pouch. It was heavy in his palm; he opened it and poured its contents into his palm. And these contents he showed to Longstreet and Helen, looking at them wonderingly.
'The gent took what he wanted, but he paid for it,' he said slowly, 'in enough raw gold to buy half a dozen young beeves! That's fair enough, isn't it? The chances are he was in a hurry.'
'Maybe,' suggested Helen quickly, 'he was the same man whose camp fire we found. He was in a hurry.'
Howard pondered but finally shook his head. 'No; that man had bacon and coffee to leave behind him. It was some other jasper.'
Longstreet was absorbed in another interest. He took the unminted gold into his own hands, fingering it and studying it.
'It is around here everywhere, my dear,' he told Helen with his old placid assurance. 'It is quite as I have said; if you want fish, look for them in the sea; if you seek gold, not in insignificant quantities, but in a great, thick, rich ledge, come out toward the Last Ridge country.'