For a moment there was silence; then, from
somewhere among the pines, came the snarling yelp
of a coyote; and simultaneously the door rattled in
its frame. There was no other connection between
the two incidents than that the coyote has an aver-
sion to storms, and the wind was rising; yet there
seemed somehow a kind of supernatural conspiracy
between the two, and Mr. Beeson shuddered with a
vague sense of terror. He recovered himself in a
moment and again addressed his guest.
'There are strange doings here. I will tell you
everything, and then if you decide to go I shall hope
to accompany you over the worst of the way; as far
as where Baldy Peterson shot Ben Hike--I dare
say you know the place.'
The old man nodded emphatically, as intimating
not merely that he did, but that he did indeed.
'Two years ago,' began Mr. Beeson, 'I, with two
companions, occupied this house; but when the rush
to the Flat occurred we left, along with the rest.
In ten hours the gulch was deserted. That evening,
however, I discovered I had left behind me a val-
uable pistol (that is it) and returned for it, passing
the night here alone, as I have passed every night
since. I must explain that a few days before we left,
our Chinese domestic had the misfortune to die
while the ground was frozen so hard that it was im-
possible to dig a grave in the usual way. So, on the
day of our hasty departure, we cut through the floor
there, and gave him such burial as we could.
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