It was noon. Late Carscallen and
Cloud-in-the-Sky were still sleeping--inanimate bundles among the dogs.
In an hour they were on their way again, and towards sunset they had
reached the foot of Manitou Mountain. Abruptly from the plain rose this
mighty mound, blue and white upon a black base. A few straggling pines
grew near its foot, defying latitude, as the mountain itself defied the
calculations of geographers and geologists. A halt was called. Late
Carscallen and Cloud-in-the-Sky looked at the chief. His eyes were
scanning the mountain closely. Suddenly he motioned. A hundred feet up
there was a great round hole in the solid rock, and from this hole there
came a feeble cloud of smoke! The other two saw also. Cloud-in-the-Sky
gave a wild whoop, and from the mountain there came, a moment after, a
faint replica of the sound. It was not an echo, for there appeared at the
mouth of the cave an Indian, who made feeble signs for them to come. In a
little while they were at the cave. As Jaspar Hume entered,
Cloud-in-the-Sky and the stalwart but emaciated Indian who had beckoned
to them spoke to each other in the Chinook language, the jargon common to
all Indians of the West.
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