By this time Fat had managed to make two holes in his can of milk and was drinking the contents.  Mr. Allen had returned to his sketching, and Willis had gone over to the little dam to get a drink.  Suddenly there was the snort of a horse and the rapid tramping of hoofs.  A dog gave two or three barks, then horse, rider, and dog appeared on the trail.  In a second another rider, with a pick and shovel thrown over his shoulder, came over the ridge.  The first pulled in his horse and, turning in his saddle, looked to see if his companion was coming.  Being confident that he was not far behind, he again urged his horse forward, apparently not noticing the group by the big boulder.  Ham got to his feet and spoke to the dog.  The horseman gave a quick exclamation of surprise, then called out, “Howdy!” Mr. Allen rose.

“Well, well!” called the man.  “Seems to me yew fellers are travelin’ some, ain’t ye?”

“O, a little,” returned Mr. Allen.

“You don’t happen to know, do you, whether there are two cabins above here, do you?  We was directed to the middle cabin.”

“No, only a very badly decayed one—­just a pile of tumbled-down logs,” replied Mr. Allen.  The second rider had come up and dismounted, and together they studied a sketch which he had taken from his pocket.

“This must be the one, that’s all,” he drawled, as he spat out a great quid of tobacco, “‘cause he said it was by the bridge.  We must o’ missed the other cabin in the trees somewhere below here.”

Willis was eyeing the newcomers closely.  A stern, hard look crossed his face as he quickened his pace.  He reached Mr. Allen’s side, and the first rider nodded to him.  He drew nearer and observed the sketch very closely, listening intently to all the strangers had to say.  His heart was beating fast, but just why he could not have told.

“Well, Jim, I guess we’d better unsaddle an’ give the nags a drink an’ a rest,” said the stranger as he carefully folded up the sketch and put it in his pocket.  “Seems strange as how we’d meet twice in these mountains in nearly as many days, don’t it?” remarked the man, as he began to loosen the saddle girths and to untie the sacks of grub that were fastened on behind.

“How is that?” queried Mr. Allen.

“Why, wasn’t it you that went up the trail to the top of Cheyenne the other day?” questioned the man.  Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on:  “We was doin’ an assessment up there that day an’ seed you as you stood talkin’ to that crusty old prospector that works that tunnel.”

“O yes,” said Mr. Allen, “so you are the men that were up there by that black dump?”

“Yep, we’re the fellers, Jim an’ me.”

“Are you going to do more assessment work here in this canyon?” questioned Ham.

“Yep, we’ve got two assessments to do here somewhere,” returned the stranger.  “This canyon, or at least part of it, belongs to a real estate company in Colorado Springs.  I don’t believe there is any gold here, but they are holdin’ the property as an investment.  Seems like they expect sometime to open this canyon to tourist trade to see some swell falls that’s up in it somewheres.”