CHAPTER XXI 

 THE END OF SWING'S STORY 



So quickly did the time pass in our new camp on 

 the mountain that it seemed but a breath before the 

 day arrived on which we might expect the return 

 of the pack outfit. But night came with no sign of 

 the absent burros, and three more days passed be- 

 fore the jingle of bells and the faint cries of the 

 packers announced their approach. It was late aft- 

 ernoon when we first saw them. The burros were 

 creeping slowly, like a string of heavy laden ants, 

 up the long, winding trail. Behind them came two 

 horsemen. 



Nearer and nearer they climbed. Brown's weird 

 scream rang out from time to time. We had heard 

 it before ever its perpetrator came in sight. But 

 his companion did not look like Ewing. Before long 

 we could distinguish the square, stalwart figure of 

 Jackson, the Kingston ranger. 



Speculation immediately arose as to the cause of 

 Ewing 's failure to appear. The general opinion 

 was that he had gone on a bender. 



Inquiries were made of Brown as soon, almost, 

 as he had come within earshot. But the packer was 

 for the time being uncommunicative. Jackson was 

 equally dumb. 



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