ottom, here. It's nigh feed time. Say,
ma'm, it ain't no use worritin'. We'll git som'eres sure. The sun's
dead ahead."

"What's the use of that?" Mercy Lascelles snapped at the man's easy
acceptance of the situation. "I wish now I'd come by Leeson Butte."

"That's sure how the boss said," retorted the man. "The Leeson trail
is the right one. It's a good trail, an' I know most every inch of it.
You was set comin' round through the hills. Guessed you'd had enough
prairie on the railroad. It's up to you. Howsum, we'll make somewheres
by nightfall. Seems to me I got a notion o' that hill, yonder. That
one, out there," he went on, pointing with his whip at a bald, black
cone rising in the distance against the sky. "That kind o' seems like
the peak o' Devil's Hill. I ain't jest sure, but it seems like."

Mercy looked in the direction. Her eyes were more angry than anxious,
yet anxiety was her principal feeling.

"I hope to goodness it is. Devil's Hill. A nice name. That's where the
camp is, isn't it? I wish you'd hurry on."

The teamster spat over the dashboard. A grim smile crept into his
eyes. His passenger had worried him with troublesome questions all
the journey, and he had long since given up cursing his boss for
sending him on the job.

"'Tain't no use," he said shortly. Then he explained. "Y' see, it 'ud
be easy droppin' over the side of this. Guess you ain't yearnin' fer
glory that way?"

"We'll never get in at this pace," the woman cried impatiently.

But the teamster was losing patience, too. Suddenly he became very
polite, and his pale blue eyes smiled mischievously down upon his
horses' backs.

"Guess we don't need to hurry a heap, ma'm," he said. "Y' see, in
these hills you never can tell. Now we're headin' fer that yer canyon.
Maybe the trail ends right ther'."

"Good gracious, man, then what are we going to do?"

"Do? Why, y' see, ma'm, we'll have to break a fresh trail--if that
dogone holler ain't one o' them bottomless muskegs," he added
thoughtfully.

He flicked his whip and spat again. His passenger's voice rose to a
sharp staccato.

"Then for goodness' sake why go on?" she demanded.

"Wal, y' see, you can't never tell till you get ther' in these hills.
Maybe that canyon is a river, an' if so the entrance to it's nigh sure
a muskeg. A bottomless muskeg. You seen 'em, ain't you? No? Wal,
they're swamps, an' if we get into one, why, I guess ther's jest Hail
Columby, or some other fool thi