Scranton turned his eyes from one to the other of us with a questioning look.
"Mr. Carter," Rhodes explained, "was just telling me about that trip, and he wondered if you belonged to the old pioneer Scranton family."
"This," exclaimed the other, "is something of a surprise to me! Few people, I thought, very few people, even knew of the journey."
"Well, Mr. Carter happens to be one of the few."
"May I ask," said Scranton, addressing himself to me, "how you learned that my grandfather had visited the mountain? And what you know?"
"When I was a boy, I heard a man—his name was Simpson—tell about it."
"Oh," said Scranton, and it was as though some fear or some thing of dread had suddenly left him.
"His story, however," I added, "was vague, mysterious. Even at the time I couldn't understand what it was all about."
"Of course. For, though Simpson knew of the journey, he knew but little of what had happened. And more than once did I hear my grandfather express regret that he had told Simpson even as much as he had. I suppose there was something, perhaps a great deal, of that I-could-tell-a-lot-if-I-wanted-to in Simpson's yarn."
"There was," I nodded.