Suddenly Ross, deep in his book, heard a sound, the crunching of the pine cones and boughs with which the ground was strewn. A moment later a shadow moved across his book. He sprang to his feet, the book falling to the floor, and confronted a man in the doorway. The man was middle-aged, large, and stoop-shouldered. His face was burned and bearded and furrowed, but astonishment was stamped on every feature and furrow. "Hello!" he greeted Ross, as one familiar with his surroundings greets a stranger. He stepped inside with that air of assurance which proclaims ownership. His eyes left Ross, and swept the shack. "What----" he began, and suddenly stopped, his gaze traveling back curiously to the boy. "What----" he began again, but got no further. Ross was the first one to complete a question, and it was an eager one. "Where did you come from?" "Cody," returned the stranger, reciprocating with "And you?" "Meadow Creek." "Meadow Creek!" in surprise. "Is the trail open now?" Ross shook his head. "I don't know. I came last January." "January!" The stranger stared, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Do ye mean t' tell me ye've been here sence January?" "Ever since then." Briefly but excitedly Ross told the story of his coming. The stranger, listening, leaned back against the door-post. Successively he removed his cap, scratched his head, and contracted his bushy eyebrows. When Ross finished he was grinning in grim humor. "Young man," he began slowly, "this here is Wood River canon. Ye're only seven miles from Miners' Camp. Ye could 'a' hoofed it down t' Gale's Ridge in two hours on top of any crust that would 'a' held ye up." Stepping to the door Ross raised a chagrined voice, "Leslie, ho, Less! Come here!" The boy's unexpected and welcome visitor was Terry Brown, the owner of several adjacent coal claims. He had gone out of the mountains the first of December, his preparations for departure consisting merely in closing the door of his shack. He had expected to open it in June on the same furnishings and provisions which he had left. "I see how it was," Brown began as the three talked things over that evening. "That 'ere Weston waits fer a storm a-purpose. Then he takes ye a pretty chase around and up and among them little peaks over at the head waters of Meadow Creek until he gits ye so mixed up that ye don't know east from west. Then he slides ye over the cliff, and lands ye in here; and you, thinkin' ye're miles away from ye don't know where, with a heap o' danger spots between ye and anywheres, jest naturally sets down here and behaves yerself. It was the only sensible thing to do," added Brown approvingly. "But in the face of the facts it doesn't look sensible now!" Ross burst out. [Illustration: "The Crooked Trail that Deceived Ross"] "No," meditatively, "but without knowin' any of the facts, and with no way t' know 'em, you acted with sense, plain hoss sense. But that 'ere Weston, he sure done you dirt, all right."