ridge whence he could look down into the upper waters of Thunder River. Now, in gala mood, fancying a tin platter heaped high with good things to eat, his big voice booming out in one of his melodious but not entirely tuneful songs, he hurried on down the steep trail, only Thunder River's roar of sound capable of deadening news of his approach. Singing he came to the edge of his own little stretch of tableland, his eager eyes expecting a cabin well along towards completion. And what he saw was the well remembered plateau just as he had left it, with never a sign or hint of a cabin. He stopped suddenly, his eyes frowning.
The first suspicion was that Turk and Rice, going for supplies, had got drunk and stayed drunk, reckless with the little gold and silver he had given into their keeping. But he shook his head; they might get drunk, but he didn't believe they would do it on his money. It wasn't like Rice; he didn't believe that Turk was that sort, either. Then, catching a glimpse of two men through the trees, he went on with big strides, hot words forming to his tongue.
One of the men was Turk. He was squatting with his back to a tree, his face turned toward Steele. He had seen Steele, but gave no sign save for a tell-no-tales grin which came slowly to his heavy features. But the other man was not Rice; Steele was only a score of steps away, still advancing swiftly, when the fellow turned and Steele saw a big, lumbering, shaggy chap, all mouth and nose and wide ears, a rough looking customer if the mountains ever harboured one.
