Ben was really puzzled now.  If Ezram had already made his presence known and was camping somewhere in the hills about, there was no reason immediately evident why Neilson should deny his presence.  Ben found himself wondering whether by any chance Ezram had been delayed along the trail, perhaps had even lost his way, and had not yet put in an appearance.

“He told me, in the few minutes that I talked to him, that his cabin was somewhere close to this one—­I thought he said up this creek.”

“There is a cabin up the creek a way,” Neilson admitted, “but it isn’t the one he meant.  It’s on my claim, and my two partners are living in it.  But when he said near to this one, he might have meant ten miles.  That’s the way we Northern men speak of distance.”

There was nothing more to say, nothing to do at present.  He said his farewells to the girl, refused an invitation to pass the night in the cabin, and made his way to the green bank of the stream.  Four hundred yards from the cabin, and perhaps a like number from the cabin of Ray and Charley—­obscured from both by the thickets—­he pitched his camp.

In the cabin he had left Jeffery Neilson catechized his daughter, trying to learn all he could concerning Ben.  It was true that he carried the dead Hiram’s rifle, and that the latter’s pet wolf followed at his heels, but it was wholly probable that the old man, Hiram’s brother, with whom he had conversed at the river, had designated him to get them.  He had been courteous and respectful throughout the journey to the Yuga, Beatrice said, and he had also saved her from possible death in the fangs of the wolf the evening previous.  Neilson decided that he would take no steps at present but merely wait and watch developments.

Meanwhile Ben had made his fire and unpacked his horses.  He confined his riding horse with a picket rope; the others he turned loose.  Then he cooked a simple meal for himself and the gaunt servant at his heels.

When the night had come down in full, and as he sat about the glowing coals of his supper fire, he had time to devote serious thought to the fate of Ezram.  It occurred to him that perhaps the old man had discovered, at a distance, the presence of the claim-jumpers; and was merely waiting in the thickets for a chance to take action.  If such were the case, sooner or later they could join their fortunes again.  It was also easy to imagine that Ezram had lost his way on the journey out.

He stood at the edge of the firelight, gazing out into the darkened forest.  The wolf crouched beside him:  alert, watching his face for any command.  It was wholly plain that the gaunt woods creature had accepted him at once as his master; and that the bond between them, because of some secret similarity of spirit, was already far closer than between most masters and their pets.