"Does it make your head ache much?" asked the hunter.
"Not in this case. It hurts sometimes, when I try to think forward, but not when I try to think back an' remember things. Then I've got somethin' to go on. I'm tryin' to rec'lect whether I ever met a feller who wuz ez unpleasant to my feelin's ez that thar Felton."
"I know I never did," said Will, with emphasis.
"Me neither," said the hunter. "I don't like men who wear velvet jackets with big brass buttons on 'em. Now I think the way is going to be pretty steep for a long distance, and I guess we'll have to walk. Lucky these horses and mules of ours are having so much experience in climbing mountains. They go up 'em like goats now."
Despite the skill of men and beasts as climbers they could not ascend at any great rate, although Will noticed that both his comrades were eager to get on. He fancied that the image of Felton was in their minds, just as it was in his, and the farther they advanced the more sinister became the memory of the velvet-coated intruder.
They passed out upon a great projecting, bald rock, where they paused for many long breaths, and Will, through his glasses, was able to see the brown plains far below, sweeping away in swell on swell until they died under a dim horizon. But the distance was so great that he could make out nothing on their surface.
Night found them on a ridge, where there was enough grass for the horses, and trees still grew, though much dwarfed and stunted. They kept close in the lee of the trees and did not build any fire, although it was very cold, so cold that the bearskin coats again formed a welcome addition to the blankets. Boyd said it would be best for them to keep watch, although little danger was anticipated. Still, they could not be too cautious, and Will, who insisted on mounting guard in his turn, was permitted to do so. The Little Giant kept the first watch and Will the second, beginning about midnight. Giant Tom, who awakened him for it, went almost instantly to sleep himself, and the lad was left alone.
He lay upon a rather wide shelf, with his two comrades only a few feet away, while the horses and mules were back of them, having withdrawn as much as they could into the stubbly pines and cedars in order to protect themselves from the cold wind. Will heard one of them stir now and then, or draw a deep breath like a sigh, but it merely formed an under note in the steady whistling of the wind, which at that height seemed to have an edge of ice, making him shiver in all his wrappings. Nevertheless, he watched as well as one might under such circumstances, feeling himself but a mote on the side of a great mountain in all the immensity of the wilderness.
Surely the hunter was right when he said there was little danger. He did not know from what point in so much blackness and loneliness could danger be apprehended, but he believed, nevertheless, that danger was near. The whistling of the bitter wind seemed to him sinister and threatening, and yet a wind was only a wind. It must be circumstances going before that had given it that threat. He knew the mind could be so prepared by events that it became a sensitive plate, receiving upon its surface impressions that were, in reality, warnings.
Stronger and shriller grew the wind, and stronger and shriller was its warning. He had been lying upon his side with his rifle thrust forward, and now he sat up. Some unknown sense within him had taken cognizance of a threatening note. Listening intently he heard only the wind, but the wind itself seemed always to bear a menace on its front.