He half decided to turn back, but his curiosity held him--his curiosity and love of adventure made him decide to slip up the hill and take a peep at things. Suiting his action to the thought, he dismounted, tethered his mare to a bunch of brush, and made his way cautiously to the top. When very near it, he dropped to his hands and knees, crept to the summit, and peered through the brush to take in the scene below. It was a kind of cove, grassy, flower-sprinkled, and strewn in nature’s delightfully careless way with groves and shrubs. A great cliff formed part of the background. Several shaggy pine trees shot above it. At the base of the cliff was a grove of aspen saplings, out of which a brook came dancing. But the thing which held his interest most was the cabin that stood directly before him just within the edge of the aspen grove. The cabin was rather roughly built, but it looked cozy. A generous stone chimney, out of which the thin blue smoke was rising, stood at the north end. One door, half open, and a small window were on the west. The skin of some animal was nailed on the outside. A large dog lay dozing near the door. The occasional clingety-clang of a cow bell broke the evening stillness as bossy, grazing on the sweet grasses near the cabin, would throw her head from time to time to shake off the bothersome flies. There were no other signs of life around. Fred, however, had assured himself of one thing: it was not Indians that lived there. Yet Indians could scarcely have frightened him more than did a quiet voice behind him, as it said, “Wal, boy, how do ye like the place?” Fred jumped to his feet trembling like a leaf, and found himself facing an old mountaineer, gray-bearded, long-haired, looking curiously at him. “I scared ye, didn’t I?” the old man continued calmly. “Wal, stop shakin’; I won’t hurt ye; but what are ye doin’ here anyway?” “Why, I was just roaming about the hills, and--and--I happened to see the smoke of your house, and thought it might be Indians, so I slipped up to see.” “Hain’t lost any Injuns, hev ye?” the calm gray eyes lighted with a little twinkle. “No, not exactly,” Fred returned more easily; “I’m just out hunting chickens.” “You hain’t found many.” “No, I haven’t had very good luck.” “That old hen’s pretty tough eatin’! You better come down and try some young ones I killed this mornin’. It’s gettin’ near supper time.” Fred was ready enough to accept the invitation. The afternoon’s excitement had made him hungry; but he was hungrier to learn more about his new acquaintance. They trudged down the trail to the cabin. The dog leaped up at their coming and bounded toward his master; but he stopped uncertain how to greet the boy, till the mountaineer said calmly, “It’s all right, Tobe”; and the dog turned to trot ahead of them back to the house.