real gel on Ghost Mountain that night," he went on presently. "But you was asleep. If you'd took me up, you'd have lost."
"How's that, Red?"
"I heard somethin' about her in town. Seems she an' her friend, or her maid, some says, got off the train to Pioche two weeks ago. They puts up at the Mountain House an' ses nothin' to nobody about their bisness, was they tourists or lungers or whatnot? Jest asks, casual, to be p'inted out Ghost Mountain. Hires Jim Woodhouse, who used to drive the stage, a few questions about campin' an' the like, hires him to buy 'em an outfit, an' then they strikes the grit for Ghost Mountain, all by themselves. One of 'em, the maid, is a crowd by herself. A Swede or some kind of a squarehead, an' big as two men. Seems a couple of ranch hands got fresh when the outfit passed 'em. This Swede she jest natcherly bumps their heads together, like she was crackin' walnuts. One of 'em's in the hospital, they say, an' t'other's a sorehead for life. Course it's all second-hand news, brought over to Metzal by some one who seen 'em, or said he did.
"One of 'em plays the violin. That made 'em think to Pioche they was concert folk. But they lit out—an' we saw the gel on the mountain that night. Rum, ain't it, two wimmen like that strikin' out alone an' choosin' Ghost Mountain for campin'?"
"What is the other one like, the one you think we saw?"
"It is the one. The other u'd break the back of anything short of an elephant. Why, some say
