"I'm alone," expostulated the man.
Nevertheless he slackened pace.
After five minutes' climb they entered a narrow ravine gashed almost perpendicularly in the side of the mountain. At this point, however, it flattened for perhaps fifty paces, so that there existed a tiny foothold. It was concealed from every point, and nevertheless, directly to the west, Bob, pausing for breath, looked out over California slumbering in the moon. On this ledge flowed a tiny stream, and over it grew a score of cedar and fir trees. A fire smouldered near an open camp. On this the man tossed a handful of pitch pine. Immediately the flames started up.
"Here we are!" he remarked aloud.
"Yes, I see we are," replied Bob, looking suspiciously about him, "but what does all this mean?"
"I couldn't get to talk with you no other way, could I?" said the man in tones of complaint; "I sure tried hard enough! But you and your pardner stick closer than brothers."
"If you wanted to speak to me, why didn't you say so?" demanded Bob, his temper rising.
"Well, I don't know who your pardner is, or whether he's reliable, nor nothin'. A man can't be too careful. I thought mebbe you'd make a chance yourself, so I kept giving you a show to. 'Course I didn't want to be seen by him."
"Not seen by him!" broke in Bob impatiently. "What in blazes are you driving at! Explain yourself!"
"I showed myself plain only to you—except when he cut loose that time with his fool six-shooter. I thought he was further in the brush. Why didn't you make a chance to talk?"