The country through which Old Pegs led his new friend was one of the most difficult and dangerous in the portion of the foothills in which they were placed. No one, save a man who loved solitude, and would have chosen it from all others as a home, would have thought of spending so many years of his life in this lonely place. They passed through defile after defile, clambered over ridges and forded mountain streams in which the trout were so abundant that their feet touched them as they passed. On the march, Old Pegs had a chance to observe his companion closely, and he did so without allowing him to think that he was watched. Rafe might have been thirty years of age, of an erect, stately figure, with very black hair and eyes. His hair was suffered to grow long, and curled slightly at the ends; he wore a heavy mustache—the point dropping nearly to his collar as he stood erect—and a long imperial. His eyes were of that vivid black so seldom seen, and looked wicked and bold. Although in mountain garb, there was a sort of dandyism even in this dress which did not strike Old Pegs favorably. “I don’t know whether I’m doing the right thing in showing you this road,” said the hunter. “I’m a plain man and in a humble station, and I’ve got a treasure to guard.” “A treasure?” “You bet!” “Have you found a gold-mine?” “No; gold ain’t no use ter me, or I could find it soon enough.” “It can not be diamonds?” “Better’n diamonds, young ’un; better’n gold; better’n beaver, even.” “What can you be talking of?” said Rafe, impatiently. “Never you mind about that. I know what I’m talking about, and when I get home I’ll show you my treasure.” At a turn in the path they were traversing they came suddenly upon a huge bear, which reared upon its haunches and sat, in a silly way, looking at them, with its tongue hanging out. Rafe Norris, who had no love for close companionship with a grizzly, dropped his rifle into the hollow of his hand, and was about to fire, when Old Pegs struck up the weapon. “Don’t shoot that b’ar, confound you!” he cried. “He’s mine.” “A pet bear! Is that your treasure, then?” “Not a bit of it,” replied Old Pegs. “Kinder inquisitive, ain’t you?” “You have aroused my curiosity, I must confess,” replied Rafe. “Bruin! Bruin!” cried a clear, sweet voice. “Come here, sir!” Down dropped the bear upon all fours, and waddled away in the direction of the voice, while Rafe stopped and looked at Old Pegs in amazement. “_That_ is your treasure, eh?” he demanded. “I thought you were too old a man to care for a woman.” “I’m a nice figger fur a lady’s man, ain’t I?” replied the hunter, scornfully. “I orter hit you, but I guess I won’t. Here we ar’.”