A silence followed, in which they all looked at the fire as if it was its turn to make a suggestion.
"Collinson," said the pleasant voice abruptly, "who lives in the hollow this side of the Divide, about two miles from the first spur above the big canyon ?" "Nary soul!" "Are you sure ?" "Sartin! Thar ain't no one but me betwixt Bald Top and Skinner's--twenty-five miles." "Of course, YOU'D know if any one had come there lately ?" persisted the pleasant voice.
"I reckon.

It ain't a week ago that I tramped the whole distance that you fellers just rode over." "There ain't," said the leader deliberately, "any enchanted castle or cabin that goes waltzing round the road with revolving windows and fairy princesses looking out of 'em ?" But Collinson, recognizing this as purely irrelevant humor, with possibly a trap or pitfall in it, moved away from the fireplace without a word, and retired to the adjoining kitchen to prepare supper.
Presently he reappeared.
"The pork bar'l's empty, boys, so I'll hev to fix ye up with jerked beef, potatoes, and flapjacks.

Ye see, thar ain't anybody ben over from Skinner's store for a week." "All right; only hurry up!" said Uncle Dick cheerfully, settling himself back in his chair, "I reckon to turn in as soon as I've rastled with your hash, for I've got to turn out agin and be off at sun-up." They were all very quiet again,--so quiet that they could not help noticing that the sound of Collinson's preparations for their supper had ceased too.

Uncle Dick arose softly and walked to the kitchen door.

Collinson was sitting before a small kitchen stove, with a fork in his hand, gazing abstractedly before him.