“Go on, Ham,” urged Fat, who was always ready for a story, especially a mountain story.  “Let’s have that tale of yours.  I expect we’ll need a little salt with it won’t we?”

“There isn’t much to it, after all, when you tell it, for it was the night and the surroundings that made it so impressive.  We had just finished supper and were all sitting up on the big rock looking out over the lighted city.  As we sat there, every now and then we would hear the strangest sound.  It came from the timber away up behind the camp.  At first it sounded like a human voice—­a kind of a long, sad sob.  The night was as dark as pitch, and as we sat listening the cold shivers began to run up and down our backs.  Sometimes the sound seemed to be answered from far out in the dark valley.  We speculated a good deal as to what it could be, for it was such a sad, wailing call.  Then suddenly way down the valley a light appeared, not a large one, just a tiny, flickering, ever-moving light.  It seemed to me to be in the air just over the center of the canyon, but the rest declared it was on the road below us.  Then the sad call came again and again.  It seemed to be nearer this time.  Then came a far-away, dull, muffled sound, such as a horse would make on stony road.  The light came directly toward us, now, up the canyon.  It resembled a lantern being swung by some one, as if to give signals.  We sat and watched it for a long time, everybody talking in low whispers; and many were the opinions as to what it really was.  No one noticed just when, but some time, without a second’s notice, the light disappeared.  We heard the faraway sound of rolling stones, then all was quiet for a long time.  Two of us sat and listened far into the night.  Several times we heard that long, sad wail—­a sort of hoo-oo-oo.  A night breeze had risen, and you fellows know how the wind moans in these pines.  It was a mighty lonesome night—­just sitting there with your every nerve alert and as wide-awake as you could ever get, just listening and watching.  As soon as it was light enough to see, we started for the summit of Cheyenne, up through that mountain of granite boulders and mighty crags.  I think we were about half-way up, when some one noticed an immense black bird, swinging in great circles, high in the air.  Soon we smelled smoke, so hurried on.  The first long rays of light began to streak the sky, and we knew we would have to hustle if we reached the summit by sunrise.  The crowd was pretty well strung out down the side of the mountain.  Keller and I were in the lead.  The smell of smoke grew stronger and stronger.  The air was heavy that morning, and so forced the smoke down to us, from somewhere on the summit.  At last we came to a little plot of ground surrounded on three sides with great rocks.  From this pit-like nook the smoke was slowly rising into the morning air.  We climbed one side of the great crags, then cautiously peered over.  I was pretty excited, for I was thinking