men of twenty tribes welcomed him as friend, but knew not of his origin. For, beneath the morose, forbidding exterior, men knew that the heart of Ick Far was good, and upon more than one occasion he had faced death that others might live.
So, when Ick Far reported, the canoe and a considerable portion of the grub was cached and the three struck out on foot. The small creek was hardly more than a succession of shallow rapids and tiny cascades, by means of which the waste from the melting snows of the higher levels rushed and plunged toward the river.
“If it wasn’t for the trail leadin’ up this creek, I’d sure never look for no pass yonder,” announced McKeever, pointing to the fore, where a sea of snow-capped peaks were jumbled in titanic confusion. “You’re sure about that trail, Ick?”
The Indian regarded the officer with a pitying expression and, without a word, pointed to the ground at his feet. But although both Connie and the Sergeant stared with all their might, it looked not one whit different from the ground a yard, or a rod to the left, or to the right.
“Oh, sure—clear as mud!” laughed the Sergeant. “All right, Ick, old hand, go to it. But jest the
