"Did he fight it out with himself?" I asked carelessly.
"Yes," said the boy, and I now met a fine straight pair of eyes....
There was an old sharp wedge to the story. Dreve's sweetheart had
died--the loss twisting him to the point almost of insanity. He had
climbed this mountain, it was said, and remained for three days, until
the town began to search. The marshal had found him sitting up there,
where the shack is now. Dreve was quiet and normal, but confessed
himself hungry. He had returned to the mountain soon afterward, and
built his cabin. In six months, Dreve was all changed over. He seemed
to have a new body and new mind.
"You said he's here four days a week," I suggested.
"Yes, he goes to the city. He has a good business, but has mastered it
to the point that several younger men can run it. Dreve only gives two
or three days a week to business affairs, though he has been a great
worker----"
"He's up there now?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Does he mind strangers?"
"Not your kind."