The elusive hooting of male blue-grouse came from the tree-tops of the rocky slopes. A willow grouse moved from a clump of bushes with a haughty step to show her finery by ruffling the feathers of her neck and spreading her fan-like tail. There was a sharp “plop” as a rainbow trout curved gracefully on the surface to leave a widening circle of ripples on the calm water. All through this sun-washed valley was the soft murmur of a land at peace—at peace because unspoiled by man.
“Strike me pink!” breathed Andy in an awed tone.
“Holy mackerel! but ain’t she a pretty spot?” came excitedly from Gillis.
As they rumbled across the bridge a man came to the door of the log cabin, ran swiftly to the fence and swung the gate open. With a hand held to his brow to shade his eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun, he peered up at the horsemen. His eyes lighted up as he recognized Douglas.
John Hillier filled the dual rôle of trapper and road-house keeper. His fantastic dress of deerskin, the six-shooter slung at his hip, and the big sombrero that topped his shaggy grey head gave him almost a sinister appearance.
Old John’s face was savage and wild, but his bristly moustache hid a mouth as tender as a woman’s. Great shaggy brows beetling out over his grey mountaineer eyes could not conceal the softness that crept into them so often. His gentle eyes seemed out of place in that homely, battle-scarred face. It was like finding a touch of romance in a treatise on trigonometry.
He was known under several sobriquets: “Trapper” John, “Coffee” John, and “Mahogany” John. “Coffee” John for the excellence of his brew of that beverage, and of which he drank enormous quantities. His call to meals: “Come and throw your feet under the mahogany,” supplied the reason for the cognomen of “Mahogany” John.
With the assistance of their host they unsaddled the tired horses and turned them into the pasture, where they rolled luxuriously on their backs for a moment, and then started feeding hungrily on the rich clover.
A wind shook the tree-tops and turned the surface of the lake dark with ripples. High in air, streaming dark clouds scudded swiftly by.
“Got here jest in time,” said the old trapper, as he looked up at the sky. “It’s a goin’ to rain. Come inside.”