Jack took the matter as one of the peculiar incidents in a trapper's life, for he had learned that a trapper has no conception of time, no thought for the days ahead, no particular object in view beyond existence, and no ambition beyond that of the prospector who indulges his fancies of "striking it rich" some day. Jack knew there were plenty of provisions to last until summer, that the trapper would leave two horses and the sled, besides quite a valuable lot of traps, et cetera, which would insure his return sooner or later, so there were no misgivings when the mountaineer mounted his horse and rode away. He busied himself day after day and accumulated furs and knowledge of frontier life. These were the surroundings in which Jack found himself three months after leaving Boston. CHAPTER III. CATS, TRAPS, AND INDIANS. The steady life of a trapper had become regular diet to Jack, as day after day he visited old traps, set out new ones and explored territory farther away from the cabin. The Indians were daily visitors whether he was in camp or not, but they never molested anything, no matter how curious or hungry. They were seemingly good humored, even though there appeared an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The first episode to put him on his guard was when one of the Utes, Bennett, hid behind a tree near the camp fire outside the cabin. Yamanatz was there in his customary place, squatted upon the ground. A strange dog ran in and out of the place and Jack inquired of the old Ute how the dog happened to be there. Yamanatz, unconcerned, replied, "Me dunno." This puzzled Jack, but he went about his cooking, carefully watching the trees and rocks. He felt for the first time a species of alarm. Again he inquired, "Ute dog, mebbe so?" "Me dunno." Jack knew no white man would go along that trail at that time of year without stopping to say "How!" In fact, there was no white man within forty miles, except old Joe Riggs, and old Joe would be there with the dog if the dog was Joe's. The suspense had a sudden termination as the muzzle of a rifle "mirrored" in the sunlight, just the tip of the muzzle being thus accidentally disclosed. Quick as a flash Jack pulled his six shooter, cocked it and held it level at the tree where the bright steel was in full view. Yamanatz made neither sign nor comment, but Jack felt that the cunning old chief was fully aware of all that was going on. Very soon the edge of a woolen turban cap appeared opposite the rifle muzzle, then an ear, then a little of the chin and finally the eye of Bennett looked straight into Jack's six shooter. With a bound the joker jumped from behind the tree and, with a laugh which could have been heard a mile, and in which Yamanatz joined, came forward, palms outward, signifying peace, exclaiming, "White man no 'fraid; heap big joke, heap big joke." But Jack began to feel that these jokes might end in something serious, especially if he showed the white feather in the least.