Seth shook his head. He took Rube’s meaning at once.
“That’s to come, I guess,” he said gravely.
Rube suddenly looked away down the trail in the direction of Beacon Crossing. His quick ears had caught an unusual sound. It was a “Coo-ee,” but so thin and faint that it came to him like the cry of some small bird. Seth heard it, too, and he turned and gazed over the rotting sleigh track which spring was fast rendering impassable. There was nothing in sight. Just the gray expanse of melting snow, dismal, uninteresting even in the flooding sunlight.
Rube turned back to the gateway of the stockade. His pipe was finished and he had work to do. Seth was evidently in no mood for talk.
“I’d git around and breathe good air fer awhiles,” he said kindly, “y’ ain’t goin’ to git strong of a sudden, Seth.”
“Guess I’ll ride this afternoon. Hello!”
The cry reached them again, louder, still high-pitched and shrill, but nearer. Away down the trail a figure in black furs was moving toward them.
Both men watched the object with the keenest 231 interest. It was a mere speck on the gray horizon, but it was plainly human, and evidently wishful to draw their attention.
“Some’un wantin’ us?” said Rube in a puzzled tone.
“Seems.” Seth was intent upon the figure.