"It looks that way," responded Wetherell, "but what can we do? You can't beat her, and we've done all we could to bribe her." Eugene advised: "You wait. Bimeby she got done cryin'. To-morrow she got cold--want meat, coffee--plenty bad. Then we go get her." They went into camp not far away in the edge of a thicket of scraggly wind-dwarfed pines, and put up their tents for the night. "Wouldn't it put a cramp into you," began Kelley, as they stood beside their fire, "to think that this old relict has actually led us all the way up here in order to water the grave of a sweetheart who died forty years ago?" "It shows how human she is." "Human! She's superhuman. She's crazy, that's what she is." "It is all very wonderful to me, but I'm worried about her. She mustn't stay out there in this rain. It's going to turn cold. See that streak in the west?" As Wetherell left the camp-fire and began to climb back toward the comb of rocks he felt not merely the sheer immensity of this granite basin, but the loneliness, its almost insupportable silence and emptiness. With the feeling of one who intrudes he called to the old woman. He stooped and put his arm about her. "Come," he said. "You will die here. Come to the fire." She suffered him to lead her away, but her head hung on her breast, her arms were limp. Back at the camp-fire, after seeing that Pogosa had been properly taken care of, the men faced each other in gloomy silence. "Right here we take our medicine, partner," remarked Kelley. "Here we put a dot and double the line. I'd like to break over that divide and see how it looks in there, but our lady friend seems indisposed, and I guess we'll just toast our knees and think where we missed it." "After all," said Wetherell, soothingly, "this morning may be merely incidental. Let us be patient. She may recover." And at dark he carried some hot drink over to her tepee, but found her sleeping, and decided not to awaken her. Back at their fire, as the night deepened, the men lighted their pipes, and with blankets at their backs huddled close about it. An imperious voice broke from Pogosa's tent. Wetherell looked around at Eugene. "Did you speak?" he asked. Eugene protested. "No. Pogosa talk." "It sounded like a chief's voice," Kelley began. "A vigorous voice." Eugene, trembling like a scared puppy, crept close to Wetherell. His voice was a mere whisper. "That no Pogos'--that Injun spirit talking." Kelley was amused. "A spirit, eh? What does this spirit Injun say?" "Say, 'White man with red beard listen--come closer and listen'--" "That's you, Andy. Draw close. Your side partner has something to say." Wetherell, alarmed by this delirium of his patient, rose to his feet, and as he did so her harsh voice uttered a short phrase which stiffened Eugene with fright. He left his place and sidled after Wetherell. "She say _me_, Eugene, come talk for you." "Very true. You'll need him. This may be a dying confession," argued Kelley.