"I reckoned as I knew this here country's well as any," said Rube, staring thoughtfully up at a tremendous pyramid peak, the snow on which was gold and crimson in the light of the setting sun. "But this beats me. 'Tain't on any map as ever I seed."
"The Indian said no white man had ever crossed it," said Roger.
"Hed he bin across hisself?" inquired Rube.
"No. He told dad that none of his tribe had ever been across. And when dad asked him why, he only shook his head, and said something about its being the country of two-tailed devils."
"How did he know of this here pass then?" demanded Rube.
"The map was given him by his father. It had come down goodness knows how many generations. He tried awfully hard to persuade dad not to go."
"They've got a mighty queer lot of legends about these mountains," put in Nick. "You couldn't pay any Injun I ever saw to put foot on 'em."
They camped that night in bitter cold and deep snow on the very summit of the pass. Rube took Nick aside.
"Say, boss, do you reckon we're ever going to find Roger's dad?"
Nick shrugged his shoulders.