diverting sight. The big ones, you know, white with snow on the
tops, waltzing--_decollete_, we may say."

"You first scour the kettles," said Mr. Jack, leaning toward him
excitedly, "to cook the beans in the morning, and you lie down on a
blanket and keep quite still. Then they come out and dance for you.
You would go out and dance with them but you are chained every night
to the centre pole of the hut. You believe the mountains dance,
don't you, Charlie?"

"I contradict no traveller's tales," said Grandemont, with a smile.

Mr. Jack laughed loudly. He dropped his voice to a confidential
whisper.

"You are a fool to believe it," he went on. "They don't really
dance. It's the fever in your head. It's the hard work and the
bad water that does it. You are sick for weeks and there is no
medicine. The fever comes on every evening, and then you are as
strong as two men. One night the _compania_ are lying drunk with
_mescal_. They have brought back sacks of silver dollars from a
ride, and they drink to celebrate. In the night you file the chain
in two and go down the mountain. You walk for miles--hundreds of
them. By and by the mountains are all gone, and you come to the
prairies. They do not dance at night; they are merciful, and you
sleep. Then you come to the river, and it says things to you. You
follow it down, down, but you can't find what you are looking for."

Mr. Jack leaned back in his chair, and his eyes slowly closed. The
food and wine had steeped him in a deep calm. The tense strain had
been smoothed from his face. The languor of repletion was claiming
him. Drowsily he spoke again.

"It's bad manners--I know--to go to sleep--at table--but--that
was--such a good dinner--Grande, old fellow."

_Grande!_ The owner of the name started and set down his glass.
How should this wretched tatterdemalion whom he had invited,
Caliph-like, to sit at his feet know his name?

Not at first, but soon, little by little, the suspicion, wild and
unreasonable as it was, stole into his brain. He drew out his watch
with hands that almost balked him by their trembling, and opened the
back case. There was a picture there--a photograph fixed to the
inner side.

Rising, Grandemont shook Mr. Jack by the shoulder. The weary guest
opened his eyes. Grandemont held the watch.

"Look at this picture, Mr. Jack. Have you ever--"

"_My sister Adele!_"

The vagrant's voice rang loud and sudden through the room. He
started to his feet,