"I don't know what it means. I may as well lie down and rest again. I imagine my landlady won't care about seeing me before it is time to go to bed."
With this thought Dean dismissed his conjectures, and gave himself up to a pleasant reverie. He didn't worry, though his prospects were not of the best. He was nearly out of money, and there appeared no immediate prospect of earning more. Where he was he did not know, except that he was somewhere among the mountains of Colorado.
"I wish I could come across some mining settlement," thought Dean. "I couldn't buy a claim, but I could perhaps hire out to some miner, and after a while get rich enough to own one myself."
Suddenly his reflections were broken in upon by a discordant voice.
"Who are you, youngster, and where did you drop from?"
Looking up quickly, Dean's glance fell upon a rough-looking man, in hunting costume considerably the worse for wear, with a slouched hat on his head, and a rifle in his hand. The man's face was far from prepossessing, and his manner did not strike Dean as friendly.
"My name is Dean Dunham," he said in answer to the first question, then paused.
"How came you here?"
"I am traveling."