All these favorable circumstances reacted on Weimer's work. He was becoming more and more efficient, and Ross's spirits had risen as the days passed; and he saw the growing intelligence manifested by the other in regard to operations in the tunnel. This change for the better in Uncle Jake had not passed unnoticed by the McKenzies. Ross said nothing to the old man about the scene he had just witnessed in the tunnel. It would do no good, and would only inflame the other's wrath. Therefore, he snuffed the candles, repeating mechanically: "Don't believe the McKenzies are coming over to-night." But at that moment footsteps sounded outside the door. The snow creaked under the pressure of shoes, and Sandy and Waymart entered. Sandy was as gay and talkative as ever, but not Waymart. He sat down on a box, leaned back against the logs, turned up his coat collar to protect himself from the icy wind, which sought out the dirt-chinked crevices, and, pulling a mouth-organ from his pocket, began to play. Nor did he stop until Sandy rose to go. A sombre figure he made back among the shadows, his eyes resting vacantly on the floor at his feet. One leg was crossed over the other, the toe moving in time to the discordant music. Waymart's thoughts did not seem to be cheerful companions. But Sandy had drawn a box close up beside the roaring fire, and sat with his elbows on his knees and a pipe in his mouth. He paid no attention to Weimer nor to his musical brother, but told Ross yarns of the gold-fields of Montana and Nevada, tales concerning other men, Ross noticed; Sandy never talked about himself. The evening passed and the men rose to depart without having mentioned the newcomer; and Ross, with the thought of their previous reticence concerning him in mind, waited for them to speak first. It was Sandy who spoke, but not until his hand was on the door and Waymart stood outside the cabin. Then he said carelessly, as though Ross had never seen Weston before, and as though the coming of a relative was an every-day event in Meadow Creek Valley: "Cousin hiked it over the mountain to-day. We're goin' t' strike th' trail over t' the Divide to-morrow, huntin'. He's great on game." "So," thought Ross, "I'm right. It's hunting that has brought him here." The next morning at daylight, Ross, eating breakfast, chanced to glance out of the dirty west window. Up near the summit of Soapweed Ledge, which met Crosby at right angles, he saw three figures advancing single file. Each carried a gun, and had a small pack and snow-shoes strapped on his back. "Uncle Jake," asked Ross suddenly, "have you ever been over to the Divide?" Weimer shook his head. "No, I stay home and attend to pizness." "Haven't you ever crossed that mountain?" Ross indicated Soapweed Ledge. "Yes." "What's beyond?" "More mountains," answered Weimer vaguely, "und peyond dem more und more."