CHAPTER XXI 
THE END OF EWING’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 perpétrator 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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