"We were crossing a steep bank of snow at the foot of a cliff, and being
both tired and hungry we were bickering and quarreling over nothing. I
should have remembered that your father was but just recovering from an
attack of nervous prostration, but I did not; we had been months in the
mountains prospecting and the unprofitable toil and loneliness must have
got on my nerves. At any rate, after some hot, unbrotherly language, we
agreed to part company.

"We sat down on the snow and divided our outfit by lot. I got the
flint-lock Patrick Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle little
donkey; your father got the packhorse and the Winchester rifle.

"We--we--parted without saying good-bye, and just then an elk came out
on the snow bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired, the elk fell,
but the simultaneous concussion of the reports of the two rifles started
the snow to moving. The Great Dane and the donkey sensed the danger and
fled to the right. I turned to warn your father and motioned him back,
but he came on a run toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit. The
burro and dog escaped to safety, I was caught in the edge of the slide,
knocked unconscious and buried in snow, from which the dog rescued me.

"A fragment of stone struck me on the head and I have never been the
same since then. Your father and his outfit are buried under five
hundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped nearby for days but could find
no trace of my brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry, 'You
killed your brother; you are marked with the brand of Cain.'

"This thought has haunted me night and day and I have never quarreled
with a man since then; for fear that I might do so, I have avoided white
men ever since and buried myself in these mountains. I found this valley
and I hid here and with the aid of the Great Dane and the wolf dogs I
bred, as beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I--I--was afraid--all the
time, though--afraid someone would--find out about--Donald's death and
blame it on me. When you--said--you--were--Donald's son I was
frightened--I thought you'd come to get me--for killing your--father
and--I--I--I was going to kill myself. But Pluto got--me--and saved me
from further guilt. I--"

He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I could understand him. Indeed,
he kept mumbling incoherently for an hour or more while we watched over
him and did all that we could to make him comfortable until the death
rattle in h