ed some unsuccessful
fishing, over which he was cheerful, promising trout to-morrow when we
should be higher among the mountains. He never again touched or came
near the subject that was on his mind, but while I sat writing my diary,
he went off to his horse Monte, and I could hear that he occasionally
talked to that friend.

Next day we swung southward from what is known to many as the Conant
trail, and headed for that short cut through the Tetons which is known
to but a few. Bitch Creek was the name of the stream we now followed,
and here there was such good fishing that we idled; and the horses and
I at least enjoyed ourselves. For they found fresh pastures and shade in
the now plentiful woods; and the mountain odors and the mountain heights
were enough for me when the fish refused to rise. This road of ours now
became the road which the pursuit had taken before the capture. Going
along, I noticed the footprints of many hoofs, rain-blurred but recent,
and these were the tracks of the people I had met in the stable.

"You can notice Monte's," said the Virginian. "He is the only one that
has his hind feet shod. There's several trails from this point down to
where we have come from."

We mounted now over a long slant of rock, smooth and of wide extent.
Above us it went up easily into a little side canyon, but ahead, where
our way was, it grew so steep that we got off and led our horses.
This brought us to the next higher level of the mountain, a space of
sagebrush more open, where the rain-washed tracks appeared again in the
softer ground.

"Some one has been here since the rain," I called to the Virginian, who
was still on the rock, walking up behind the packhorses.

"Since the rain!" he exclaimed. "That's not two days yet." He came and
examined the footprints. "A man and a hawss," he said, frowning. "Going
the same way we are. How did he come to pass us, and us not see him?"

"One of the other trails," I reminded him.

"Yes, but there's not many that knows them. They are pretty rough
trails."

"Worse than this one we're taking?"

"Not much; only how does he come to know any of them? And why don't he
take the Conant trail that's open and easy and not much longer? One man
and a hawss. I don't see who he is or what he wants here."

"Probably a prospector," I suggested.

"Only one outfit of prospectors has ever been here, and they claimed
there was no mineral-bearing rock in these parts."

We got back into