Taking his rifle with him, the trapper noiselessly stole away from the vicinity. He moved around the camp in a gradually increasing circle, pausing but once in his pace, and that was when he was opposite to the point where he believed Martin's cabin lay. Full ten minutes passed, when he heard footsteps and the voices of men engaged in conversation. Sinking upon the ground at the foot of the tree by which he was standing, Blaze watched and waited.
Both men were strangers to him; but one of them already has been introduced to the reader, under the name of Endicott. He had had time to leave Martin and meet with another man, who seemed a friend; and to him was imparting information, both as to what had already occurred that night in the vicinity of Back Load Trace, and as to what might occur. His words, that spoke of violence and treachery, appeared to fall upon sympathizing ears. As they drew nearer, all the time becoming more deeply interested in their conversation, Blaze gave a start of surprise and recognition; he crouched closely in the shadow and listened with redoubled interest.
Charles Endicott has been already described, and his companion merits notice. He, too, differed in something from the class of men one naturally expects to find on the very outer verge of semi-civilization. He was a man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, of medium hight. He walked with a steady, stealthy, cat-like pace, his head, for the most part, bent down; but now and then it was lifted, and he cast a sharp, steady gaze around him. The features were firmly cut, the eyes were steady; yet an undescribable something seemed to be shifting across his face, which would say to a stranger: Beware of Eben Rothven!
"Yes, Eben, it does make a change in the programme, I'll admit, but, it's a change to the advantage of both. Don't you see that?"
"I see that we waste here a couple of weeks, and no one knows what the end of it all will be. You can't count on a woman, and especially such a woman as you say this is. Break them down physically and mentally, trample the life out of them, and then they'll rise again. Out of a wreck that, were it of manhood, would founder with the first breath of wind, will rise again a good stout ship. You think you can waken the old dream in her, do you? Why, man, I'm surprised at you! The deadest thing on the earth is a dead love, and there is no mending a broken idol. Take my advice and let her go. She will be a burden that will sink us both. We are on the trail to fortune now; don't let us lose it, or fly wild at the first scent that crosses it."
"You're welcome to your philosophy about dead idols and the like; welcome to shake your head and prophesy; but, what I want is your help. Of course I will get it in some shape or other; but, I prefer it to be freely and enthusiastically given."
"How much does my help enter into your calculations? I tell you frankly that I am none of your dashing adventurers, ready to ride into Martin's camp of Free Trappers. So far as a word of advice and a sacrifice of time goes, you may count on me; but, don't expect me to stand behind you, to assist in any mad experiment you see proper to try."
"My 'count' is upon your services as a Reverend—a title and authority that, as far as you and I know, is still legitimately borne. I want to use you; a piece of joinery of your handiwork will last for all time. I can not believe that the cause by fair means is hopeless, and shall try them first; after that, why, there are a few stout hands and bold heads at our back, and we must e'en make the most of our stock in trade. To be sure, we are on the road toward fortune in other directions; but this is a certainty. The woman is worth her weight in gold, almost; and, besides, it's no new dream with me. It's not so many years since she was an idol of mine."
"Yes, I've heard of it—and I think, too, that you handled it—or would have handled it—not over tenderly. Do you think she would forgive that?"
"That was no fault of mine. I would have done better if the fates had let me; but they were against me. What could I do, hedged in as I was? If I could have sunk my past record, and stood out a new man, I'd not have let 'e'en the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.' Perhaps I've got colder and harder since then; but, if so, I think my tongue can move as glibly and smoothly as ever, and there are fair excuses to be made for all that was seemingly wrong in the past."