"John Kinzie 's a mighty good man, stranger, but he an' Ol' Tom Burns ain't never hitched worth a cent." We climbed silently, and came out together upon the top.

A slight beam of light crept along through the open door of the log house just in front of us, and for the first time I caught a fair view of my companion.

He was a tall, gaunt, wiry fellow, typical in dress and manner of his class,--the backwoodsmen of the Southwest,--but with a peculiarly solemn face, seamed with wrinkles, and much of it concealed beneath a bushy, iron-gray beard.

We eyed each other curiously.
"Dern if ever I expected ter meet up with ye agin in no sich way as this," he said shortly.

"But thet 's the house.