As if in answer to his appeal, one golden feather drifted down and lay glittering iridescently among the pebbles at his feet.
The lad sprang up with a laugh; then, going down on his knees, he began to dig at the exact spot on which the feather fell. Imagination had carried him for the moment to a point of almost superstitious energy. But the spell passed quickly. With a scornful laugh, he straightened his lanky form to its full height.
"Gee!" he exclaimed aloud. "I never supposed I could be such a fool!"
A low laugh sounded behind him, startlingly near, and, turning to glance over his shoulder, he beheld a tall, lean, swarthy young man dressed in a faded and soiled brown suit, with a soft felt hat pulled down over his eyes, and leggings like those often worn by woodsmen.
"Seven kinds of a young fool, eh?" remarked the stranger, shifting a long-handled axe and a heavy wooden mallet which he carried from his shoulder to the ground. "Well, you ain't no fool, boy, an' I know it, an' that's why I follered you up this trail. I want ter have a little confab with you to-day. Know who I am?"
"No, I don't know you," Ralph replied truthfully, "and I can't guess how you knew I was up here in the hills."
"Your ma told me. I stopped at your shack, about two hours ago, an' she told me you was out lookin' after your traps. Any luck?"
"Not much." Ralph did not wish the man to observe either the location of the traps or the valuable mink that dangled from Keno's saddle. "What did you want to see me for?" he queried, after a minute's pause, during which he eyed the woodsman quizzically.
"You're Ralph Kenyon, ain't you?" asked the other, evidently in some doubt.
"Yes. Who are you?"