HE committee of five prospected the valley widely, taking care to keep away from Bill Williams' retreat under the overhanging ledge. For several days they ranged back and forth. Old Misery was annoyed by their presence, but bowing before the immutable law that gives gold the right of way. At last, in disgust, they went down the valley for the last time and dispersed in search of new prospects.
Shortly after they broke camp Old Misery, unaccompanied by the bear, wandered far up the valley and did not return until the next day.
To Gilbert he said:
“I'm going away for a bit pretty soon. While I'm gone you stick close here. Weymouth Mass will see that no one bothers you when he's round, and that streak of scarlet will lead you into hiding if it looks stormy while Weymouth's away. I'm going back in the hills higher up and make a new medicine.”
He took cooked food with him and was gone until night. He was in a bad humor when he returned and cursed much under his breath. Gilbert could not imagine what could be the trouble. The mountain man entered the cabin that night and rubbed his arms with something from a bottle.
Gilbert offered to rub his back and was surprised to be courteously encouraged:
“Go ahead.”
“Panther oil,” grunted Misery as the young man kneaded the shoulder muscles. “Powerful good for aches and lames.”
“You must have wrenched yourself in some way,” remarked Gilbert as he rippled his oiled fingers up and down each side of the backbone.
“That hurts like hell and feels powerful good!” groaned Misery. “If you mean I lamed myself, I done it in every way. There, younker! Reckon that'll do. Hau! Begin to feel wolfish again.”
He was gone the next day, not returning until night. There was more complaining and grumbling, but so obscurely expressed as to convey no meaning; and there was more rubbing with the oil. For four days this was kept up, much to the young man's mystification.
He ventured to inquire of the girl Maria, but she cut him short with—
“When Senor Comandante wants his beeznis told he will tell. Is it not?”
And to his chagrin she appeared to be avoiding him thereafter, and he saw her only in glimpses.
Her old grandfather seldom wandered from his cabin door, and then only to feel his way with a staff to the prohibited area of pines. Weymouth and the sailor must have been prospecting at some distance as they did not return. Left thus alone Gilbert was very lonely. He made great friends with Bill Williams and played much with the young bears. The panther kittens and wolf pups seemed to appreciate his attentions, and although the former spat at him yet they tolerated his fondling their heads.
Once Maria came up to the cage as he was petting the kittens and remarked:
“Like a woman, Senor Gilbert. Is it not? They do not show how they feel. They act ver' angry; they feel ver' please.”
And she darted him one of her enigmatical glances.
“They are deceitful little wretches,” he agreed.
“Mos' women are,” she admitted; but he had reference to the kittens.
At the end of the fourth day Old Misery returned with sprightly step and singing the Sioux song of an Elk Dreamer. His eyes were bright and lively.
“One more of them medicine rubs, younker, and I'll be fit to sing a Kiowy travel-song and be hoofing it.”
“We're going away?” eagerly asked Gilbert. “And I can begin to earn my keep?”
“You've earned it with them rubs, and by making friends with my friends. I'm carrying the pipe alone. Sorry, younker, but bimeby the trail will be wide 'nough for both to hoof it together. You have a medicine way with them cats. One of 'em tried to claw hell out of my hand. Let's see your paws.”
Only a few minor scratches showed.
“You have a wakan way with 'em for sartain,” admiringly declared the mountain man. “Them's only love digs. I'm for my blankets. Must start early. If I was back in Vermont I'd be three hours on my way afore waking up. Be back in a few days. Stick close to camp.”
Gilbert was asleep while the mountain man prepared for his journey. The girl Maria appeared, however, and cooked his breakfast in the open. Pausing only to pat Bill Williams' sleepy head, he started down the valley, his back to the new sun.
As he reached the fringe of timber choking the lower end of the valley Maria overtook him and softly cried:
“Senor Comandante goes away without the bear?”
“You knew that, Maria. You see me start off alone. Now what is it?” he quizzed.
“Who is commandante until Senor Comandante comes back?”
He grinned and suggested: “The young Americano.”
“No, no!” she sharply cried. “Not heem. He is what you call a greenhorn.”