In the sunset light, which lay glowingly on the great peaks behind them, the heart of whose mysteries they had penetrated, they rode rapidly down the trail, sweeping up to the store in a grand manner. That night they had an elaborate supper and related some of their adventures to the store-keeper, a French Canadian, who, in turn, told many of his experiences. They were still talking when a man came in and announced himself as Bill Dawkins from “up the trail a ways.”
“I heard that one of your party is a doctor or suthin’ sim’lar,” he said, “and maybe he can do suth’in for a poor cuss that’s just been throwed from his horse and had his head busted, up the road a piece.”
“I am not a doctor, but I have some knowledge of medicine,” said the professor. “Where is the man?”
“In my cabin. I’ll take you to him.”
They all streamed out into the night and followed Bill Dawkins up the trail. It was not a great way and they were soon standing at the bedside of a well-built, but pitifully ragged-looking man. His head was bandaged, but enough of his face was visible to cause Ralph to give a great start as they saw him.
“It’s the mysterious man! The horse thief!” he cried, clutching Mountain Jim’s arm.
“Are you sure?”
“Certain.”
Jim turned to the man who had brought them.
“Is the horse that threw him outside?” he asked.