Don’t you find this rather a lonely place--no neighbors, no
nothing, that I can see? How came you to settle here, so far removed
from other habitations?”

“Waal, perhaps it’s best not ter ask too many questions ter once.”

“Beg your pardon. No offense was intended, I assure you. Simply idle
curiosity.”

“Don’t say ’nuther word, stranger, but come in an’ we’ll hev a snack fer
supper. Polly, bring on the victu’ls. Yer jes’ in time.”

Polly at once obeyed. She was a typical Western girl--tall, lithe,
graceful and limpid-eyed. She was clear-skinned and high-spirited, too,
and in this case ignorant through no fault of her own. John Barr’s eyes
scanned her intently, and a flush came to her cheeks. For the first time
in her life she was unpleasantly conscious of her bare feet. It may have
been this that made her stumble and spill some of the contents of an
earthen bowl over the guest’s knees as she placed it on the table. Her eyes flashed and a tear of anger twinkled on the lashes. She
stopped, half meaning to apologize, but an oath from her father caused
her to set the bowl down heavily and to hurry from the cabin. A moment
later Barr saw a flutter of pink calico from behind a pile of rocks. Old
Kit Robinson saw it, too. “Don’t wonder at yer sayin’ ’tain’t right. She’s a sma’t gal, and a good
looker, too, as should hev been sent away frum here ter school ter be
eddicated. But she won’t leave her no ’count dad. I orter be shot fer
cussin’ her. But I ain’t what I use ter be. Settin’ here an’ keepin’
guard makes me narvous.”

Barr’s eyes asked the question his lips refused to speak. Supper eaten,
the men went outside and sat with their chairs tilted back against the
cabin. Something in the younger man’s frank face had softened old Kit
into a reminiscent mood and made him strangely inclined to gratify an
idle curiosity. The soft evening winds sighed through the branches of the tall spruce
pines, and the declining rays of the setting sun caused the shadow of
the rude home to stretch out longer across the greensward. From its
shelter where he sat John Barr looked out on the grand ranges of the
Rockies and wondered where in their vastness he would find the man he
sought--the finding of whom had brought him out into this wild and
almost forsaken mining camp. “Stranger, I’ve took a likin’ ter you. Ye’ve a sumthin’ about you thet
reminds me of sum one I know, an’ you look like an honest chap. Say, do
you b’lieve in ghosts?”

He put the question very suddenly, and a look of disappointment crossed
his face when Barr told him that he did not believe in spooks. “Waal, I’ve seen ’em!”

A thought connecting the pink calico with something in the past came to
Barr’s mind. “Can’t you tell me about it?” he asked. “I’d like ter if you’ll sw’ar, on yer derringer, never ter blab. Will
you sw’ar?”

The solitary guest started to smile, but the smile faded at the thought
of unshed tears in Polly’s eyes. It might make it easier for her if he
humored the old man. “I’ll swear,” he said. And he did. “Do you see yan old spruce at the turn of the trail an’ the cliff jes’
above? Waal, thet’s the spot I’m watchin’ an’ guardin’ till the owner
cums ter claim it. I’m quick ter burn powder an’ a pretty sure shot. I
know a man when I sees him, an’ I ain’t easy fooled. Waal, ter begin
with, I had a pardner once, an’ he wuz a man, sure ’nough. He wuz frum
the State of New York. I never axed him as ter how so fine a gent cum
ter be diggin’ an’ shov’lin’ in the Rockies, though ter myself I said
thar wuz sum good reason. He had light hair, an’ we called him Sandy,
fer short, an’ he wuz jes’ erbout as gritty as sand. We wuz as unlike as
any two fellers you ever saw. He wuz quietlike an’ steady, an’ I wuz
sorter wild an’ reckless an’ liked mounting dew mos’ too well. Waal,
when we had a little dust scraped together, we would divvy, an’ I tuk my
share way down ter the station on the other side of the cliffs an’ sent
it off ter the bank in Helena. But I allers left sum hid whar the gal
would find it. Old Sandy hed a bank of his own thet no one knew erbout,
’cepting hisself, an’ ev’ry time we divided he’d carry part of it ter
his hidin’ place, an’ then give the rest ter me ter send ter his boy,
thet he said wuz bein’ eddicated in sum college way up in Boston. He
seemed ter think a heap of thet boy. Arter awhile my old woman give out,
an’ soon we laid her away on the hillside. It wuz hard, stranger.”

Old Kit’s voice failed him for a moment, but he quickly regained his
composure and continued:

“But when old Sandy, my good old pard, give up I didn’t keer fer
nothin’. We buried him in style. All the boys frum round the diggin’s
wuz thar, an’ many an eye wuz wet. We didn’t hev nary a preacher, but
the gal she prayed at the grave. Fer the life of me I don’t know where
she larnt it. Reckon the old woman must hev told her. Next mornin’ the
gal showed me a letter thet Sandy give her jes’ afore he died. It wuz
ter his boy, an’ she wuz ter give it ter him if he ever cum out this
way, an’ she’s got it yet. “Thet same evenin’ after supper, feelin’ kinder glumish an’ like thar
wuz sumthin’ in my throat I couldn’t swaller, I tuk a stroll up the
gulch. I went on out ter the top of the edge of the big rock an’ got ter
studyin’ whar I’d find another pard like Sandy. All ter once I felt a
hand touch my shoulder kinder light once or twice. I jumped up, half
expectin’ it wuz Sandy, but it wuz only the gal. Waal, I wuz all tuk
back at fust, an’ then I got mad. “‘What air you doin’ up here?’ I axed, kinder rough. She hed tears in
her eyes as she looked at me, an’ said:

“‘Pap, don’t git mad. I wuz lonesum. I seed you cumin’ up this way, an’
I follered you, ’cause I wanted ter tell you thet Sandy said ter give
his boy his pile when he cums.’

“‘Waal,’ says I, ‘you might hev waited till I cum back ter the house.’
An’ then I sent her back. “Arter she wuz gone I sot ter studyin’ whar in the world Sandy’s pile
wuz. I tried ter think whar could he hev hid it. But it warn’t no use. All ter once I noticed it wuz plum dark, an’ as these mountings ain’t a
he’lthy place fer a man ter roam in arter nightfall, especially if he
ain’t got his shootin’ irons on, I cut a pretty swift gait fer the
shack. “Jes’ as I cum round the bend thar at the pine I happened ter look up
terward the clift, an’ thar sot Sandy. Yes, sir. It wuz him sure as yer
born. My feet felt heavy as lead, an’ I couldn’t move frum the spot. I
tried ter holler, but it warn’t no go. Finally I gave a sudden jerk an’
made a step terward him, an’ as I did so he disappeared. Then I made
tracks fer home. But I kept mum, ’cause I knowed the boys would say thet
mounting dew wuz lickin’ up my brains, an’ I would be seein’ snakes an’
sich things afore long. “The next night sumhow er ’nuther I thought ter go an’ see if he wuz
thar ag’in, an’ sure ’nough, thar he sot, lookin’ kinder sad an’ making
marks on the rocks with his fingers.