“Your old plea—­the presentiment of coming danger, I suppose,” and the youth laughed, gayly.  “But you need not fear.  No one will invade our little Paradise, right away.  What is your opinion of it, Redburn?”

“I should say not.  I think this little mountain retreat is without equal,” replied Harry, with enthusiasm.  “The only wonder is, how did you ever stumble into such a delightful place.”

“Of that I will perhaps tell you, another time,” said Harris, musingly.

Day soon dawned over the mountains, and the early morning sunlight fell with charming effect into the little “pocket,” with its countless thousands of odorous flowers, and the little ivy-clad cabin nestling down among them all.

Sweet, sad-faced Anita prepared a sumptuous morning repast out of antelope-steak and the eggs of wild birds, with dainty side dishes of late summer berries, and a large luscious melon which had been grown on a cultivated patch, contiguous to the cabin.

Both Harris and his guest did ample justice to the meal, for they had neither eaten anything since the preceding noon.  When they had finished, Ned arose from the table, saying:  “Pardner, I shall leave you here for a few days, during which time I shall probably be mostly away on business.  Make yourself at home and see that Anita is properly protected; I will return in a week at the furthest;—­perhaps in a day or two.”

He took down his rifle and belt from the wall, buckled on the latter, and half an hour later left the “pocket.”  That was a day of days to Harry Redburn.  He rambled about the picturesque little valley, romped on the luxuriant grass and gathered wild flowers, alternately.  At night he sat in the cabin door and listened to the cries of the night birds and the incessant hooting of the mountain owls (which by the way, are very abundant throughout the Black Hills.)

All efforts to engage Anita in conversation proved fruitless.

On the following day both were considerably astonished to perceive that there was a stranger in their Paradise;—­a bow-legged, hump-backed, grisly little old fellow, who walked with a staff.  He approached the cabin, and Redburn went out to find who he was.

“Gude-mornin’!” nodded General Nix, (for it was he) with a grin.  “I jes’ kim over inter this deestrict ter prospect fer gold.  Don’ seem ter recognize yer unkle, eh? boy; I’m Nix Walsingham Nix, Esquire, geological surveyor an’ mine-locater.  I’ve located more nor forty thousan’ mines in my day, more or less—­ginerally a consider’ble more of less than less of more.  I perdict frum ther geological formation o’ this nest an’ a dream I hed last night, thet thar’s sum uv ther biggest veins right in this yere valley as ye’ll find in ther Hills!”

“Humph! no gold here,” replied Redburn, who had already learned from study and experience how to guess a fat strike.  “It is out of the channel.”

“No; et’s right in the channel.”