"What is your occupation?" asked the colonel.
"I do not see that it is any business of yours," I said; "but, as I am not ashamed of my profession, and you may have saved my life on the mountains, I've no objection to telling you. I'm an artist."
At this modest announcement the colonel's face, to my surprise, became more threatening. Never did I see a man's expression more thoroughly betoken suspicion.
"An artist?" he exclaimed. "You paint, you draw things?"
"Some of the critics say I don't, but my friends say I do," I replied.
He grumbled to himself and looked at me with angry, distrustful eyes.
"What were you doing on these mountains?" he asked. "Why were you approaching Fort Defiance?"
"I told you I was on a hunting-trip and lost myself," I said. "I hadn't the slightest idea I was approaching Fort Defiance. I never heard of the place before."
He pulled his fierce, gray moustache in doubt, looking at me as if mine were the most unwelcome face that ever met his gaze. Presently he beckoned the doctor to the door, and they whispered together there for a few moments. Then he returned to me.