Note 20.)

A man came riding a dark bay horse, with white nose and white right fore
foot, along our side of the beaver pond, and halted at our camp. The
horse had left ear swallow-tailed and was branded with a Diamond Five on
the right shoulder. The man wasn't the man we had seen across the pond,
for he wore a sombrero, and was taller and had on overalls, and
cow-puncher boots.

[Illustration]

"Howdy?" he said.

"How are you?" we answered.

He sort of lazily dismounted, and yawned--but his sharp eyes were taking
us and our camp all in.

"Out fishing?" he asked.

"No, sir. Passing through," said General Ashley.

"Going far?"

"Over to Green Valley."

"Walking?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good place for beaver, isn't it?"

"A bad place."

"That so? Used to be some about here. Couldn't catch any, eh?"

"We aren't trying. But it seems a bad place for beaver because the only
one we have seen is a dead one in a trap."

The man waked up. "Whose trap?"

"We don't know." And the general went on to explain.

The man nodded. "I'm a deputy game warden," he said at last. "Somebody's
been trapping beaver in here, and it's got to stop. Haven't seen any one
pass through?"

We had. The general reported.

"Smallish man?"

"Yes, sir."

"Roan hoss branded quarter circle D on the left hip? Brass-bound
stirrups?"

"We didn't see the horse; but we think the man was left-handed," said
the general.

"Why?"

"He was left-footed, because there was a hole in the sole of the left
shoe, and that would look as though he used his left foot more than his
right. So we think he may be left-handed, too." (Note 21.)

The game warden grunted. He eyed our flag.

"You kids must be regular Boy Scouts."

"We are."

"Then I reckon you aren't catching any beaver. All right, I'll look for
a left-footed man, maybe left-handed. But it's this fellow on the roan
hoss I'm after. He's been trying to sell pelts. There's no use my
trailing him, to-day. But I'll send word ahead, and if you lads run
across him let somebody know. Where are you bound for?"

The general told him.

"By way of Pilot Peak?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll tell you a short cut. You see that strip of young timber
running up over the ridge? That's an old survey trail. It crosses to the
other side. Over beyond you'll strike Dixon's Park and a ruined
saw-mill. After that you can follow up Dixon's Creek."

We thanked him and he mounted and rode away.

CHAPTER V