It was a long narrative. Far back in the years he had prospected with
a youth named Pete Reeve. They had located a claim and they had gone
to town together to celebrate. In the celebration he had drunk with
Reeve till the boy stupefied. Then he had induced Reeve to gamble for
his share of the claim and had won it. Afterward Pete swore to be even
with him. But the years had gone by without another meeting of
the men.
Only today, riding through the mountains, he had come on a dried-up
wisp of a man with long, iron-gray hair, a sharp, withered face, and
hands like the claws of a bird. He rode a fine bay gelding, and had
stopped Bill to ask some questions about the region above the
timberline because he was drifting south and intended to cross the
summits. Bill had described the way, and suddenly, out of their talk,
came the revelation of their identities--the one was Bill Campbell,
the other was Pete Reeve.
At this point in the story Bull heaved himself slowly, softly up on
one arm to listen.
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