The reason went back to a certain quickening of the senses that is the peculiar right and property of most men who are really residents of the wilderness. And resident, in this case, does not mean merely one who builds his cabin on the slopes and lives there until he dies. It means a true relationship with the wild, an actual understanding. This man was the son of the wild as much as the wolves that ran in the packs. The wilderness is a fecund parent, producing an astounding variety of types. Some are beautiful, many stronger than iron, but her parentage was never more evident than in the case of this bronze-skinned giant that called out through the open doorway. Among certain other things he had acquired an ability to name and interpret quickly the little sounds of the wilderness night. Soft though it was, he had heard the sound of approaching feet in the pine needles. As surely as he would have recognized the dark face of the man in the doorway, he recognized the sound as Dave's step. The man came in, and at once an observer would have detected an air of deference in his attitude. Very plainly he had come to see his chief. He was a year or two older than his host, less powerful of physique, and his eyes did not hold quite so straight. There was less savagery but more cunning in his sharp features. He blurted out his news at once. "Old Elmira has got word down to the settlements at last," he said. There was no muscular response in the larger man. Dave was plainly disappointed. He wanted his news to cause a stir. It was true, however, that his host slowly raised his eyes. Dave glanced away. "What do you mean?" the man demanded. "Mean--I mean just what I said. We should have watched closer. Bill--Young Bill, I mean--saw a city chap just in the act of going in to see her. He had come on to the plateaus with his guide--Wegan was the man's name--and Bill said he stayed a lot longer than he would have if he hadn't taken a message from her. Then Young Bill made some inquiries--innocent as you please--and he found out for sure that this Wegan was from--just the place we don't want him to be from. And he'll carry word sure." "How long ago was this?" "Week ago Tuesday." "And why have you been so long in telling me?" When Dave's chief asked questions in this tone, answers always came quickly. They rolled so fast from the mouth that they blurred and ran together. "Why, Simon--you ain't been where I could see you. Anyway, there was nothin' we could have done."