"Does it?" said Mr Rawlings eagerly, hoping that the young engineer might be able to tell something.

"Yes," replied the other, "and I cannot tell how or where I have seen somebody like him before. But I will recollect presently, I have no doubt, after a little more reflection."

"We picked up the poor chap at sea, half-drowned, and bleeding from a very terrible cut across the forehead; and such a slender thin shaving of a boy that you would not have known him to be the same as he is now!"

"Indeed!" said Ernest Wilton with greater interest even than he had displayed before; and thereupon Mr Rawlings told the whole story of Sailor Bill's rescue, and how he afterwards saved the life of Seth Allport, to whom he had thenceforward attached himself; and how the worthy sailor had refused to part with him, and brought him out west.

The young engineer had been carefully noting all the points of the narrative while the other was speaking; and seemed to revolve the whole circumstances of Sailor Bill's history in his mind with a view to solving the mystery.

"I shouldn't be surprised," said he, when Mr Rawlings had completed his yarn, "if he belonged to that deserted ship which you subsequently came across; and that in the mutiny, or whatever else occurred on board, he got wounded and thrown into the sea."

"That is possible," said Mr Rawlings, "but not quite probable, considering the time that elapsed after our saving him to meeting with the water-logged vessel, and the distance we traversed in the interval. Besides, the boy was lashed to the spar that supported him in the water, and he couldn't have done that, with the wound he had received, by himself; so that gets rid of the theory of his being half-murdered and pitched overboard. Altogether, the story is one of those secrets of the sea that will never be unravelled, unless he comes to his senses at some time or other and tells us all about it!"

"And you don't know his name, or anything?"

"No, only just what I have told you."

"Had he no marks on his clothing, or anything in his pockets, that might serve for identification, should any one claim him by and by?" said Ernest Wilton, pursuing his interrogatories like a cross-examining barrister fussy over his first case.

"He had nothing on but his shirt and trousers, I tell you," said Mr Rawlings, laughing at what he called the badgering of the other, just as if he were in a witness-box, he said, "and boys don't carry many letters or documents about them, especially in their trousers' pockets; at all events, they didn't do so when I was a boy. Stay—" he added, bethinking himself suddenly of one item of the story he had apparently forgotten till then,—"I certainly passed over something."

"What?" said Ernest, still looking at Sailor Bill steadfastly, as if trying in vain to summon up the recollection of his features from the hazy depths of his memory; for the face of the boy seemed more and more familiar to him the longer he looked.

"Well," replied Mr Rawlings, with a little hesitation, "I don't suppose you want to know about the boy merely to satisfy an idle curiosity at seeing the poor, bereaved, young creature to be out of his mind?"

"Certainly not," said Ernest Wilton. "What you have already told me, besides his own innocent, guileless look, has interested me strangely in him; and, in addition to that, I'm sure I know something about him or somebody extremely like him, which I cannot at present recall to my recollection."

"I believe you honestly," replied Mr Rawlings, stretching forth his hand in token of good faith, which the other cordially grasped; "and, that being the case, I can tell you something more, which only Seth Allport and myself know about, and which we have kept to ourselves as a matter of confidence on the poor boy's behalf. Of course, Captain Blowser of the Susan Jane knows about it, too, as he was entitled to by rights, from having picked the little chap up; but he's at sea, and it doesn't matter whether he divulges it or not, as it wouldn't be of much consequence to the boy; here on land, however, where anybody might track him out from interested or other motives, it is a very different matter; so I must ask you on your word of honour to keep the circumstance to yourself."

"Most decidedly," said Ernest Wilton heartily; "I pledge you my word I will—until, at all events, you think it best, should things so happen, that it ought to be divulged."

"All right," responded Mr Rawlings, trusting implicitly in the other's discretion. "Now, I'll tell you. When I said that the boy had only his shirt and trousers on in the way of garments, and that there was nothing in his pockets to disclose his identity, I related you only the simple truth, for there was nothing to trace him by; and I remember that Captain Blowser, of the Susan Jane, regretted afterwards that the spar to which we found him lashed had been cut adrift, without any one having examined it carefully to see whether there might not have been the name of the ship painted on the yard, or a portion of the canvas, or something else in the top along with the boy—for there was the topmast and yard, and all the gear of the whole mast complete, as if it had been carried away in a moment. But you recollect what I told you, of the boy's dashing out of the cabin as if he had been taken with a sudden frenzy, and going to rescue Seth Allport when he was swept over the side by the broken topsail-halliards in that squall?"

"Yes, quite well," answered Ernest Wilton.

"Well, after that he fainted away almost dead again for some time; and when I was bending over him trying to rouse him, I noticed a thin silken string round his neck, which I hadn't noticed previously, nor had Jasper the steward, although his shirt had been opened there, and his bosom bared in our efforts to resuscitate him, when he first took him down into the cabin."

"A fine silken string?" repeated the other, as Mr Rawlings paused for a moment in his recital; "a fine silken string round his neck?"

"Yes; and on drawing out the end of it I found a small parchment parcel, carefully sealed up with red sealing-wax, and an official kind of stamp over it which had been before concealed in an inside pocket cunningly secreted in the waist-part of the boy's flannel shirt."

"And this parcel contained?" said the young engineer with breathless attention.

"Ah! that's what I just don't know," said Mr Rawlings with provoking coolness.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER TEN.

A CONUNDRUM.

Ernest Wilton felt almost inclined to be vexed at first, thinking that the speaker had deliberately led him on with the intention, finally, of "selling" him, or perpetrating an April fool trick at his expense, it just being about that time of year. But after one steadfast glance at Mr Rawlings' unmoved face, which bore an expression of honest sincerity that could not be doubted, he laughed off his annoyance, for he could perceive that his companion was perfectly guiltless of any attempt at a joke, and had said what he did in serious confidence.

"Did you not open the packet?" said he, when he had stifled his laughter, which increased all the more from Mr Rawlings' unconsciousness of having done or said anything to provoke it.

"No, I didn't do it at the time, thinking it might be some little keepsake or love-token which the boy would not have liked any prying eyes to look into if he were in the full possession of his faculties; and afterwards, when I wanted to, thinking that it might disclose his identity, Seth wouldn't allow it."

"Hullo!" said that worthy, coming up at the moment, with Sailor Bill in close attendance behind him as usual, "what are you two chaps a conspiring about? I guess," he continued, with the broad smile that seemed to illumine the whole of his rugged countenance and give it such a pleasant, cheery look, "you're up to some mischief about me, hey? I kalkerlate I heard my name kinder mentioned."

"We were talking about the boy, Seth," said Mr Rawlings, smiling too.

"Speakin' 'bout my b'y, wer' yer?" said he, turning half round as he spoke, to pat Sailor Bill's head kindly. "Poor feller! yer might ha' sunthin' a sight worse ter talk about, I reckon! He's a chap as can't do harm to none whatsomdever, if he can't do 'em no good, as he once did to me, I guess."

"You can't forget that, Seth?" said Mr Rawlings.

"No, nor won't as long as this chile draws breath nether," answered the ex-mate of the Susan Jane, feelingly, with a look of almost parental fondness at the boy.

"Mr Wilton here was wondering, Seth," continued Mr Rawlings, "why you would not let me open that package round poor Sailor Bill's neck, to see whether it would give us any clue to who he is."

The smile faded instantly from Seth Allport's face, which reassumed its normal grim, firm look, just as if some one had dealt him what he would have called a "back-hander."

"Mr Wilton may wonder, and you too, Mr Rawlings, but I jest won't that, siree, not if I know it. Nary a soul shall look upon it, I guess, till that thar b'y opens it hisself. I said that months agone, Rawlings, as you knows well, and I say it now agin."

"I wish I could recollect whom he resembles, really," said Ernest Wilton, to give a turn to the conversation, which had got into such an unpleasant hitch. "There is nothing so worrying as to try and puzzle over a face which you seem to remember and which you cannot place."

"Yes," said Mr Rawlings; "like a name sometimes seems to hover right on the tip of your tongue, and yet you can't get it out, try what you may. I suppose you left England only lately?"

"I?" replied the young engineer. "Why, it's nearly four years since I left Liverpool for America—quite."

"Perhaps you keep up communication, however, with the tight little island, eh?" said Mr Rawlings. "I daresay some one was sorry to lose you."

"Not they," said Ernest Wilton carelessly. "'I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me,'" he hummed in a rich baritone voice, although there was a tone of sadness in it that belied the tenor of the words. "I assure you," he added presently, in one of those sudden bursts of confidence in which some of us are apt to indulge sometimes when we get a sympathetic listener, "that I haven't written home or heard from thence for more than three years, and they will have thought me dead by this time! I've no doubt there is a large parcel of letters and papers awaiting me now in New York, where I told them to address me when I came to America; for I've not been back there either since the day I landed, when I started straight across the continent for California, with a gentleman who had an interest in some mines there, with whom I came over in the same steamer from Liverpool; and I have never been eastwards again, or turned my face thither till I came through Oregon as far as this place, which is still considerable to the west, I think, eh?"

And he laughed lightly, as if he did not care to talk much of home or its associations.

"I don't think it's quite right, though," suggested Mr Rawlings in his grave, kind way, "altogether to abandon one's relatives and friends in that fashion."

"No?" said the young man inquiringly; and then added more frankly, impressed by the manner of the other, "Well, perhaps it isn't quite the right thing to do; but I have been a rover almost all my life, and a wanderer from home. Besides, my parents are both dead, and there's nobody now who particularly cares about me or my welfare in old England."

"Not anybody?" persisted Mr Rawlings, who thought it strange that such a nice, handsome fellow as the young engineer appeared should be without some tie in the world to hold him to his country.

"I certainly have an uncle and aunt and some cousins," said Ernest Wilton, acknowledging his relatives as if he were confessing some peccadillo; "and my aunt used to be fond of me as a boy, I remember well."

"Then I should write to her," said Mr Rawlings. "When you get as old as I am, you won't like to feel yourself alone amongst strangers, and without some one to connect you with the past of your childhood."

"I will write to my aunt, then, as you have reminded me of my shortcomings," said Ernest Wilton, laughing. "I promise you that at any rate."

"That's a good fellow. I'm sure you won't regret it afterwards," said Mr Rawlings, who was then proceeding to ask the young engineer something about his journey from California to Dakota when Seth, who had listened patiently to their conversation so far, now interrupted them.

"Come, mister," said he, addressing Ernest Wilton, "I suggest—"

"Do call me by my right name, please," interposed the good-humoured young fellow, speaking in such a sort of pleading way that Seth could not take offence.

"Waal, thin, ef yer are so partick'ler," replied that worthy, with a very bad pretence of being angry, "kim along, Wilton, thaar now! and see to this mine of ourn that you've now got to look arter. How does yer like that style anyhow?"

"Decidedly better," responded the young engineer, with his frank, light-hearted laugh, in which Mr Rawlings joined.

And the four then proceeded in the direction of the shaft, Seth leading the way, with Sailor Bill, as usual behind him.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A ROUNDABOUT ROUTE.

"It must have been a rough journey for you, all the way from Oregon in almost the depth of winter," said Mr Rawlings, as he and Ernest Wilton followed after Seth Allport, seizing the opportunity of proceeding with the conversation which the ex-mate had interrupted.

Mr Rawlings had taken a strong fancy to the young Englishman from the first, and the more he saw of his frank, open nature, the more he liked him.

The feeling, too, was evidently mutual, the younger man being attracted by the bluff, hearty, honest outspokenness of the other, who could not conceal his unaffected delight at once more coming across one from the old country, with whom he could converse on a different footing than he could with the rough miners who composed the majority of his camp party—men who, with the exception of Seth Allport, were totally uneducated and uncultivated. Of course, Mr Rawlings was used to these, and got along with them well enough; but, that was no reason why he should not enjoy a chat with a person more of his own class and status in life, was it?

Rather the reverse, one would think; for, to Mr Rawlings, the conversation of Ernest Wilton, after the usual style of talk to which he had now been habituated for months, came as grateful as water to a thirsty land—or, to use a parallel which those who had been accustomed to living on board ship will readily appreciate, as pleasant to the taste as fresh bread, or "soft tack," when one has been eating nothing but hard sea biscuits for some time previously.

To Ernest Wilton, also, it was a matter of gratification to be able to speak freely with a fellow-countrymen, after his recent companionship with half-breeds and Indians; and he was nothing loth to accept the other's overtures towards a friendly chat, to pave the way for future intimacy, such as he saw would probably result between them, should they remain long together, a possibility which recent events clearly prognosticated and which he cordially welcomed.

"Yes, it was a rough journey, with a vengeance," he replied, in answer to the implied question in Mr Rawlings' remark, "such a journey as I certainly never anticipated; and my only wonder is, how I accomplished it. But then, you know, over here in the New World—and it is new to me, every inch of it, the more I see of it—they don't measure distances the same as people do in Europe. Why, a degree of latitude or longitude is less thought of than a furlong by those at home; and, in some of the backwood settlements, neighbours are as far-away from each other as the capital cities of the continent are separated."

"That is true," said Mr Rawlings. "The space appears so illimitable that one's ideas as to measurement expand in a similar way, and the agriculturists calculate by the square mile instead of the acre in all their estimates of the land. But, about your journey? I'm curious to know what route you took to come from Oregon here."

"You may well ask," replied the young engineer, breaking into a hearty laugh, which was so catching, that Mr Rawlings followed suit, and even Seth thought it incumbent on him to look back over his shoulder and grin, "for it was, I believe, the most roundabout trip ever planned. But, in order to understand it properly, you must learn what sort of a party accompanied me. While in California, I got mixed up with all sorts of persons, engaged in companies started to carry out everything under the sun, and even under the earth: scientific men with hobbies, capitalists with money to spend, and speculators with nothing, who wished to enrich themselves from the pockets of the unwary; and, while at a dinner one day in Sacramento, where a lot of directors and shareholders of the Alba Eldorado were enlarging on the good fortune attending mining schemes in general, and their own especial venture in particular, a proposal was made that, as such fabulous reports had been circulated of the Bonanza mine in Montana, some of the surplus capital of the company should be expended in looking after another lode in the same vicinity. The proposal was eagerly accepted, and as I happened to be present I was asked to join the expedition."

"But that was in California," suggested Mr Rawlings, smiling, "and you needn't have gone through all Oregon to get to Montana, surely—eh?"

"Certainly not," said Ernest Wilton; "and that's exactly what I wish to explain. It was all those scientific men with their hobbies that led us such a dance! You see, it was a party of rich people, whose time was at their own disposal, and they could do pretty nearly as they liked. At the very first start, it was arranged that our first point of destination should be the Warm Springs in the centre of Oregon; and so to the Warm Springs we went. I believe the principal capitalist of the party thought they might be utilised for the purposes of a Universal Bath Company, Limited, to 'ablutionise'—that was his word, I assure you—the whole world."

"Nonsense, you are joking!" said Mr Rawlings, thinking the other was trying to chaff him.

"Not a bit of it—'that's a fact,' as our American friend there would say," replied the young Englishman, nodding in the direction of Seth Allport to show that he had already noticed his pronunciation and mode of speech.

"All right," said Mr Rawlings. "I can credit your financier coining the new word ablutionise; but I can't exactly stomach the 'Universal Bath Company' quite! I am an old soldier, however; so proceed, and I promise not to be very much surprised at any of your traveller's tales!"

"Really, I am not exaggerating at all," said Ernest Wilton. "That ignorant purse-proud fellow wished to start a company for almost everything we came across in our route. I need not add that he wasn't an American."

"No, it's only Englishmen that make themselves such fools over here," replied Mr Rawlings, heaving a sigh, as if he thought himself one of the number for having anything to do with the Minturne Creek venture. "If they have any bad points at home, they get them more developed by the passage across the ocean. What is the old Latin adage we used to learn at school—eh?"

"'Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt,'" quoted the young engineer. "'Those who travel abroad may change their scene of action, but can't alter their own minds.'"

"Yes, that's it," replied Mr Rawlings. "But go on with your journey."

"Well," continued the other, "when we had done the Warm Springs, one of the scientific gentlemen, who wanted to make soap cheap, I presume, suggested that the exploring party should proceed to the celebrated Alkali Desert in Idaho, which I daresay you've heard of?"

"I have," answered Mr Rawlings. "It's to the south of the Snake River, just below Boise City and the Salmon River Mountains. My poor cousin Ned was there a year or two prospecting, he told me."

"Indeed!" said the young engineer. "Then I've no doubt you liked the place as little as I did. And as for those Snake Indians, they're the worst lot I ever came across yet."

"They are so," said Mr Rawlings. "Born thieves, every one—at least, I have got Ned's word for it."

"I was grateful to them for one thing, however," said Ernest Wilton, laughing again at the recollection. "They so disgusted our great English company-starting capitalist that he would come no further with us; and we were well rid of his bumptious airs and vulgarity for the rest of the journey."

"I suppose you then came in a bee-line through Wyoming?" said Mr Rawlings.

"Oh dear, no," answered the engineer. "We were doomed to execute a series of right-angled triangles all through our erratic course. From the Alkali Desert—or rather, Three Forks Camp, which was our halting-place—we made for the Rocky Mountains, so as to reach the Yellowstone River on this side. And that was where we had such a terrible time of it."

"I expect so," said Mr Rawlings; "the Rocky Mountains are no joke in winter time, for they are not easy by any means even in summer."

"We lost a lot of animals and nearly all our baggage," continued Ernest Wilton; "so when we got to Virginia City, on the Yellowstone, the majority of our party stopped there. I would have stopped too, I must confess, but a very energetic scientific gentleman suggested our pushing on, to explore some oil wells that were reported to be situated to the south of the Big Horn range."

"I know that place well," said Mr Rawlings eagerly. "The petroleum springs are by Poison Spring Creek, as the Indians call it."

"Do they?" said Ernest Wilton. "We couldn't see any creek at all; and even the scientific gentleman got tired out, and went back to Virginia City to join the others, and recruit, before investigating the mining districts of Montana. I was so sick of the lot, however, that I determined to push on to Bismark, and strike the line of the Northern Pacific, waiting till the spring came before I undertook any further exploring work."

"And that's how you came to us?" said Mr Rawlings.

"Yes. Two of us started to cross the Black Hills from Wyoming, along with the Indians who engaged to guide us. According to the map I had with me, our route would have been to strike the north fork of the Cheyenne River, and follow it up till it emptied itself into the Missouri, when we could have pursued the left bank of the latter due north, until it took us right into the town of Bismark, which is, I believe, the terminus of the railway."

"Bless you! why it runs more than 100 miles farther west already," said Mr Rawlings; "and if you wish still to communicate with your friends, who, I can perceive from your story, there is every reason for you to be pained at your separation from, why, you'll be able to join them in Virginia City itself, in a short trip by the cars from Bismark."

"Thanks," said Ernest Wilton, appreciating the other's sly allusion to those dear companions of his with whom he had so little in keeping. "As I will be within easy reach of them in case of need, I shall be all the better pleased to remain with you, as then I'll have two strings to my bow! But, to finish my narrative:—the weather was so bad after we left the supposed site of the oil wells, that we could make no headway at all; and on our arriving at Fort Phil Kearney, which, to our mortification, was deserted, my solitary white companion, who had accompanied me faithfully so far, turned tail with two of the remaining Indians—of the Crow tribe, of course, rascally fellows, just like the birds from whom they are named!"

"You like those chaps," said Mr Rawlings with a smile, "dearly, eh?"

"I do 'muchly,' as Artemus Ward says," responded Ernest. "I should like to pay them out! But to make a long story short, with the remaining two Indian guides—who only came with me after I promised them a small fortune on my reaching a settlement—I managed to lose my way utterly; and then having lost the guides also, I wandered about hungry and cold until I met your hunters amongst the mountains, when all my troubles were ended."

"Thank goodness they met you!" said Mr Rawlings cordially. "But those Indians must have deserted," he continued musingly. "They are much too knowing to have lost their way."

"Yes, I know it," said Ernest Wilton. "They were afraid of encountering any of the Sioux, who are near you, I think."

"Yes, too close to be pleasant," said Mr Rawlings. "But we have not had any trouble with them yet."

"And I hope you won't at all," responded the other with much heartiness. "Those Crow Indians with me were continually talking about Red Cloud and Spotted Tail. I think those were the names of the chiefs they mentioned."

"Yes," replied Mr Rawlings, "both have Indian reservations in Dakota."

"Is that so? I thought that might be only their yarring when they said so; but they mentioned those two chiefs in particular, I remember now, and asserted that they intended 'digging up the hatchet,' as they termed it in their euphonious language, as soon as the spring came round! However, I wouldn't place much credence in their statement, I assure you. Those Crows are such curs that they would say anything rather than venture 'within measurable distance,' as the phrase goes, of a possible enemy." And Ernest Wilton laughed.

"I have heard some similar rumours myself," said Mr Rawlings more gravely. "The last scout that came here from the township, just before the winter set in regularly, brought word that the Sioux were preparing for the war-path, or something to that effect; and, as the red men themselves say, there is never much smoke without fire. I hope to goodness, though, that it is only rumour! An Indian war is a terrible thing, my boy. I've seen the effects of one, years since, and never forgotten it,"—and Mr Rawlings laid his hand on Ernest Wilton's shoulder, as if to impress his words more strongly. "It wouldn't be pleasant for us here were another to break out now, and we so far from the settlements."

"Isn't there a military station near this of the United States troops?" asked the young engineer.

"About a hundred miles off, or so," replied Mr Rawlings.

"Oh, that's pretty close for the backwoods!" said Ernest Wilton lightly, as he quickened his steps to join Seth Allport, who had hailed out to the two stragglers to "hurry up," for the "lazy lubbers" that they were; the ex-mate of the Susan Jane having awaited with some considerable impatience, for a rather unconscionable length of time, the end of the interview between the two Englishmen, although he was too good-hearted, and had too much good taste, to interrupt them before he saw that their chat was finished.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

"LOVE'S LABOUR LOST."

"Now, mister," said Seth Allport, when the young engineer closed-up to his side, "I guess you've seed our location, and you've seed ourselves:—now, see the mine afore you. What d'ye think of it, hey?"

The "location" looked as favourable a one for mining purposes as it was charming to the eye; but appearances are not everything to those who toil beneath the surface of the earth, and so Ernest Wilton well knew.

"What strata have you passed through?" asked he of Seth.

"I s'pose yer mean the sile, don't yer?" said Seth Allport.

The young engineer nodded an affirmative reply.

"Black mould—gravel—sand and clay—black sand by itself—and then quartz reef," replied Seth, laconically, repeating the words as if he were saying a lesson he had learnt from a book.

"And what have you got to now?" continued Ernest Wilton, pursuing his inquiry.

"Water," said Seth Allport in the same laconic way.

Ernest Wilton's face fell, albeit he had previously felt inclined to smile at the ex-mate's queer manner and abrupt speech.

Water! It was the cruellest, most persistent enemy with whom the miner has to deal. Foul air and gas can be got rid of, but water, proceeding from invisible springs, ever welling up, and the more the quantity pumped up the greater the yield from the inexhaustible fountains of the earth, was an opponent that could not be conquered, an enemy of the most potent powers for ill indeed—a very vampire that sucked the blood of energy.

Delving down, day after day, with superhuman exertions, through the various strata, they had met with no sight as yet of that rich vein of gold which they confidently hoped to encounter, although there were occasional traces of an auriferous deposit here and there to encourage them on, their hopes and hearts had never failed them until now. No wonder that Ernest Wilton's arrival was hailed as an omen of good luck; and that he was regarded by all as having arrived "just in the nick of time" to extricate them from their difficulty!

"How long is it since you met with water?" asked the young engineer, before he descended the shaft in order to inspect the works personally below.

Mr Rawlings answered this time, while Seth Allport and Noah Webster confirmed his statements by their looks, which were expressive enough!

"That is a question that none of us can reply to satisfactorily."

Ernest Wilton was surprised. He thought he had made one of the simplest inquiries possible; and he looked his astonishment at the answer given him before he said anything more. The idea of a practical man, as he regarded Mr Rawlings, speaking so!

"How is that?" said he, after a pause. "I should think you would have no trouble in telling me?"—and he looked from Mr Rawlings to Seth Allport with some curiosity.

"Some things that appear simple enough," said Mr Rawlings somewhat pragmatically, "are more difficult to answer, my clear fellow, than most people would think; and you ought to know that from your engineering experience!"

"Certainly," replied the other; "but here's a mine with men working in it from day to day, and digging through each separate stratum in turn, and knowing at the close of each day the result of that day's labour. Surely, one would think that the day on which they struck water they would not forget it?"

"Granted, my dear fellow," answered Mr Rawlings, who dearly loved a bit of argument when he could come across a foeman worthy of his steel. "I accede in toto to your premises; but your deduction is somewhat a little too rapid, for there are other circumstances to be considered which I have not yet brought to your notice, and which, I have no doubt, will alter your decision."

"By Jove!" said Ernest Wilton, with a laugh, "I must treat it as a conundrum, and give it up. I am certain that I cannot solve it."

"Stop a minute," said Mr Rawlings, "and you'll soon see how it is. During the winter we had a hard time of it to keep the roof of our house over our head, let alone preserving the mine in working order! The snow, the ice, the stormy gales, that seem to haunt the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains and their outlying ranges, each in turn assailed us: and then, on the melting of the snow at the first breath of approaching spring, the floods, which were the most virulent antagonists with whom we had to grapple, almost overwhelmed us! There was 'water, water everywhere,' as Coleridge says in his 'Ancient Mariner.' The whole valley, almost as far as you can see, was one vast foaming torrent, that bore down all our puny protections in the shape of ramparts and stockades. It nearly swept away our rough dwelling bodily; it did more, it demolished the dam we had erected across the gulch just there,"— pointing to the spot as he spoke—"and wrecked the heading of the shaft, filling the mine as a matter of course."

"And up to then, in spite of all your digging, you had met with no water?" asked Ernest Wilton. "Was that so?"

"Not a drop, which I very much wondered at, considering that we are almost in the centre of the tributaries of the Cheyenne and Missouri— any number of tiny streams rising amongst these hills, and gaining additional body as they proceed onward to join the greater rivers from fresh sources that cross their course at different angles."

"And after the floods?"

"Why, we set to work like men, I can tell you:—Seth, there, will bear me out."

"We did so, sirree," said that worthy, with a most emphatic nod.

"Yes," continued Mr Rawlings, "we first renovated the dam, and dug out a channel for the overplus of water on either side of the shaft; and then we started pumping out the mine."

"An' it were a job!" said Seth, taking up the thread of the story. "I've been in a vessel as sprung a leak, and where the hands were pumping day and night, with nary a spell off, so as to kip a plank atween us and the bottom of Davy Jones's looker; but, never, in all my born days, have I seed sich pumpin' as went on in that thaar week!"

"As Seth says," resumed Mr Rawlings, "we were like mariners pumping at the hold of a water-logged ship, as if for life. We pumped, and pumped, and pumped; but, in spite of all our efforts, only succeeded in just keeping the enemy in check, that's all."

"Can't get the mine dry, eh?"

"No, not for any length of time. What we gain in the day, we lose again at night. In concise terms, I may put it, that by keeping the hose constantly at work, which of course interrupts the progress of excavation, we barely manage to hold our own, neither gaining nor losing an inch."

"That's a bad lookout!" said Ernest Wilton, shaking his head.

It was. It meant ruin to all their hopes and expectations; the inglorious end of the expedition; the sacrifice of all their toil and perseverance throughout those terribly arduous winter months; their waste of energy in struggling with the powers of nature. It meant all that, and more!

Such a state of things would never do to last.

Difficulties were only made for men to overcome, according to the maxim which had hitherto guided Mr Rawlings and Seth Allport, and which they had preached to the more faint-hearted members of their party; and, Ernest Wilton was a thorough disciple of their creed, for he was not one to be daunted by obstacles, no matter how grievous and apparently insurmountable they were;—no, not he.

The young engineer went down the mine to look for himself, and to form his own opinion as to what was best to be done in the emergency.

He went down looking grave enough, but he returned with a more hopeful expression on his face, which at once cheered up the somewhat despondent spirits of those awaiting him above—for he preferred descending alone.

"Well?" inquired Mr Rawlings, interrogatively.

"It might be worse," said the young engineer smiling.

"That sounds good," said Seth Allport, his countenance, which had previously been grimmer than ever, beaming over its whole expanse, as if the sun was trying to shine through overhanging clouds and fog. Seth's phiz was as expressive as a barometer any clay.

"I think I see a way out of the difficulty," said Ernest Wilton to ease their anxiety, which he could readily sympathise with after what he had seen.

"I am sure you would not say so unless you had some hopes of its success," said Mr Rawlings, whom the good news seemed to affect more than all the previous trials had done, for he looked quite pale, and almost trembled with eagerness as he questioned the bearer of the welcome tidings.

"No," said Ernest Wilton joyously, for he was very glad to be able to communicate the intelligence to those who had succoured him in his own distress, and now appealed to him for assistance. "There's a chance for the mine yet; and you need not despair of having spent your toil in vain."

"Bully for you!" exclaimed Seth Allport. "Didn't I say now—ask anybody present if I didn't anyhow—that you'd brought us good luck?"

"I rejoice to hear you say so," said Mr Rawlings, a little more calmly, although his whole fortune had been at stake, as it were; for if the mine had turned out a failure he would have been ruined, and had to begin the world over again. "It would have been hard that all our labour should have gone for nothing."

"Well, my dear sir," said Ernest Wilton cheerfully, "you need not complain now. It is not a case with you of 'Love's labour lost,' as in Shakespeare's play of that title."



STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

COUNTERMINING.

"What do you think of doing?" asked Mr Rawlings, drawing a long breath of relief on hearing Ernest Wilton's cheering words. "We have tried almost everything to stop the flow of water and failed—Seth and I; and although you appear so sanguine, I hardly see what can be done, myself." And he sighed again, as if he were returning to his previous state of despondency.

"Did you ever hear the old Irish saying that 'there's more ways of killing a pig besides hanging him?'" asked Ernest Wilton, instead of answering the other's question at once.

"Yes," laughingly replied Mr Rawlings.

"Then," said the young engineer, "I am going to carry that precept into practice regarding your mine."

"How?"

"You have tried pumping without avail, have you not?" said Ernest Wilton.

"That's a fact," said Seth Allport, with the full power of his down-east nasal intonation. "Yer couldn't hit nearer the mark than thaat, I guess, sirree."

"And you could never get the water lower than fifty feet off the bottom of the shaft?" pursued the young engineer, stating his case, "could you?"

"No, not a foot lower," said Mr Rawlings.

"Then what think you of a countermine?"

"I don't quite understand you," said Mr Rawlings.

"Don't you?" said Ernest Wilton, smiling, "and yet it is easy enough to answer, as you told me just now, when I wondered how you did not know when the water came into the shaft."

"Pray explain," replied Mr Rawlings. "I didn't keep you in suspense, you know, when you confessed your inability to answer the question."

"No," said the other, "and I'll treat you as fairly now. You see, at present there is only an intervening wall, of about one hundred yards in gross thickness, dividing the shaft from the channel of the gulch outside. The upper part of the stratum is mere gravel, for as you found, in winter the river extends beyond the point where you are sinking. Judging by the eye, I should say that the mouth of the shaft is twenty feet above the level of the water in the river. So far you would naturally find no water. When you began work the water in the river must have been ten feet at least lower than it is at present, consequently it was no higher than the solid rock where you began to work down in the quartz. So long as the river was below that level you naturally would meet with no water whatever, however deep you might sink, but directly it rose so that it was higher than the level of the rock, it would penetrate through the gravel like a sieve, and will fill your shaft as fast as you can pump it out. Gradually the river will sink as the dry season comes on, and in the autumn will be again below the level of the rock. You can't wait for that, and must therefore carry your shaft from the top of the bed rock to the level of the water in the stream, say twelve-feet in all, but of course we will get the levels accurately."

"That sounds right," Seth nodded approvingly. "What's go ter be done?"

"The job is by no means a difficult one," Ernest Wilton answered. "In the first place, we must widen the shaft by a foot down to the level of the rock, that will give six inches all round. Then we must square off and level the top of the rock, which will then be a level shaft six inches wide all round. While you are doing this we must make a drum ready. That is easily made. We must make four circular frameworks, fasten twelve-feet planks, carefully fitted together, and pitched outside them so as to make it perfectly water-tight. We ought to have a layer of hydraulic lime or cement laid on the rock for the drum to rest on; but if we have not got them, some well-puddled clay will do as well. Then when the drum is in position in the shaft of rock, its upper end will be higher than the level of the water in the river, and if the rock is compact and free from fissures we shall be perfectly dry however deep we may sink. How are you off for strong planks? They must be strong to resist the pressure of the water and gravel."

"I fear that we have no planks of that thickness whatever," Mr Rawlings said. "We only brought enough timber for the scaffolding over the mine, and a little for framework if it wanted lining. You see, we did line it down to the rock. I think we have one balk of nine-inch timber left."

"Let us measure it and see how many two-inch planks it will make."

It was thirty-two feet long. Eight feet was therefore useless for planks, but would come in for the framework. Twenty-four feet would make eight planks of a little over two inches thick, nine inches wide, and twelve-feet long.

"This is less than a fifth of what we require," Ernest Wilton said. "The shaft is eight feet in diameter, so we shall need some thirty-two nine-inch planks. However, there are trees about, not very large and not very high, but big enough to get one or two nine-inch planks twelve-feet long from each. The first thing to do is to get a supply of them."

"And you feel quite sure that by lining this portion of the mine with a drum, as you describe, we shall get over our difficulty with the water?" Mr Rawlings said.

"Quite sure," Ernest Wilton replied; "providing always that the rock is solid."

"Then it's as good as done," Seth said emphatically. "You have put us on the right track, Wilton, and we'll carry it through. I never thought about the river, and kept on wondering why that darned gravel kept letting the water through when it was as dry as bones when we drove through it."

While the preparations were being made and parties scouring the country for timber the young engineer bent his mind to the task of inventing some better mode of getting rid of the water than by manual labour—the mine being sadly deficient in a lot of necessary gear, besides steam-power, as Ernest Wilton had quickly perceived, although he had refrained from commenting on the fact.

"You see," said Mr Rawlings, in apology, "I undertook too big an enterprise with the little capital I had: and, consequently, have been unable to work it properly. Indeed," he continued confidentially, "if we don't hit upon a good lead soon I shall have to give up, for my funds now will hardly suffice to pay the hands what I promised them; and if we continue working, I should have to get more stores and planks, and lots of things, which I certainly cannot afford unless we strike visible gold."

"I have a few hundred dollars of my own—" began Ernest; but Mr Rawlings stopped him at once.

"No, no, my dear fellow," said he impulsively, "your natural kindness of heart shall not lead you into throwing away your hard-earned money on my venture. I shall sink or swim on my own bottom, as the saying goes, although I thank you sincerely all the same. But about the mine," he continued, veering away from the delicate subject, "I'm sorry we haven't got a steam-engine; but that was all Seth's fault. He would believe that a mine could be pumped out as easily as a vessel's bilge."

"That's me," said Seth, not a whit annoyed at the imputation. "I hate them donkey enjines. They mostly chokes the pumps, and I'd liefer any day have hand gear an' a decent crew to clear ship with."

"Well, whether you like it better or not," said Ernest Wilton, with good humour and good sense combined, "you haven't one, and we'll have to make the best of a bad bargain."

"That's so!" said Seth, with much satisfaction apparently.

"And that being the case," continued the young engineer, "we'll teach our enemy to beat itself, or in other words, make water fight water."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Seth admiringly. "How on airth will you get to do that, mister?"

"Look before you," said Ernest Wilton, pointing to the foaming stream that was dashing along the valley. "Look at the waste of energy there! Why, with a good undershot wheel that water-power is worth more than a hundred additional hands at the pumps."

If Seth had looked at the speaker admiringly before, no words could express his pleased astonishment now. He seemed to glow all over with gratification.

"I'm jiggered!" he ejaculated, gazing at Ernest Wilton from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. "You air a screamer, an' no mistake!"

Even Mr Rawlings, generally so sedate of demeanour, in contrast to Seth Allport, who usually went into extremes, became enthusiastic.

"My dear boy," said he, grasping both of Ernest's hands and shaking them with much heartiness, "you'll be the making of us all."

"I shall try to be," said the young engineer; "for I certainly don't intend to be content with merely clearing the mine of water. You don't know half the value of your property yet; why, that quartz there," waving his hand towards a heap of the debris that had been extracted from the shaft and cast aside as waste, "if passed through a crushing mill would yield a handsome premium."

"I know," said Mr Rawlings sadly. "But I couldn't afford the machinery."

"We'll soon manufacture it, with a little help from the nearest town, where we can get some of the articles we can't make," said Ernest Wilton sanguinely; "we've got the power to drive the machinery, and that's the main thing, my dear sir. We'll soon manage the rest."

"I'm sure I hope so," replied Mr Rawlings; but he had received such a chock from the mine already, on account of its turning out so differently to his expectations, that he could not feel sanguine all at once, like the young engineer who had not experienced those weary months of waiting and hope deferred, as he had.

Not so Seth, however. His tone of mind was very opposite to that of Mr Rawlings.

The ex-mate was as confident of their success now as when they had started from Boston, before he or the rest knew the perils and arduous toil they would have to undergo. All those trials vanished as if by magic from his memory, as quickly as the winter snow was now melting away from the landscape around them, and he thought he could see the golden future right in front of his mental gaze, all obstacles being cleared away in a moment by Ernest Wilton's hopeful words.

"Hooray, Rawlings!" he exclaimed excitedly, twirling his "cheese-cutter" cap round his head, and executing a sort of hop, skip, and jump of delight. "The Britisher's the boy for us! I guess we'll strike ile now, and no flies, you bet, sirree!"



STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A HAPPY HUNTING-GROUND.

Within a few days after Ernest Wilton had joined the miners of Minturne Creek, the winter seemed to vanish away at once, the "chinook wind" coming with its warm breath from the Pacific through the gaps and passes of the Rocky Mountains far-away to the west, and dissolving the last remaining evidences of Jack Frost's handiwork.

The region of the Black Hills, as the young engineer had now the opportunity of observing, as the mountains and valleys shook off their snowy mantle and became clothed anew in the fresh green verdure of spring, is one of the most picturesque in the States, partaking alike of the lofty grandeur and rough magnificence of the sierras of the north, and the spreading landscape features to be met with in the middle of the continent adjacent to the watersheds of the Missouri and Mississippi, where the open country extends like a panorama on either side for miles.

The Black Hills proper partly lie in Dakota, occupying the south-west extremity of that state, and partly in Wyoming, and are almost encircled by the Cheyenne river, the principal fork of that stream extending in a curve right round the northern limit of the region, to where it joins the lesser tributary, which similarly skirts the southern side of the hills. On the north-east, the two branches then unite in one large river, styled by way of contrast "The Big Cheyenne," which ultimately falls into the vast rolling tide of the Missouri, some hundred miles further on due east, at a place called Fort Bennett.

The branches of the Cheyenne are not the only streams of the region, for many others, some of considerable dimensions and volume, and others mere tiny brooklets, wander in every direction through the country. The Black Hills are divided from the adjacent prairie by a series of valleys some two to three miles across; while, away back from the more elevated points, the land rolls off into a series of undulating plains, covered with grasses of every hue, and timbered along the banks of the rivers that transect them with the useful cottonwood tree, the ash and the pine, mingled with occasional thickets of willow and the wild cherry, and briars and brushwood of every description.

The operation of timbering the shaft making satisfactory progress, and Ernest Wilton's water-wheel, that was to do such wonders, having been "got well under weigh," as Seth expressed it, the chief members of the party determined to have an "outing" into the open land lying beyond their own especial valley, in search of game; for the cry for fresh meat had again arisen in the camp and urged them on to fresh exertions to supply the larder, quite apart from their own inclinations to have another day off the dreary work of the mine, which seemed to fall most upon Mr Rawlings and Seth, as it was at their mutual suggestion that they went a "hunting,"—as a shooting expedition is termed in the New World.

Having so determined, they carried their determination into effect, and started.

"I should think you had plenty of game here?" said Ernest Wilton, when they had left Minturne Creek some distance behind them, and entered upon an extensive prairie, that stretched before them, in waves of grass as far as the eye could reach, to the horizon.

"I should think so," said Mr Rawlings. "Why, it swarms with it."

"What sort?" asked the other. "Any deer?"

"Every variety you can almost mention. Deer, elk, moose—although these are to be found more to the northwards—antelope, mountain-sheep—as you know already—grizzly bears—if you relish such customers—and buffalo as soon as the sweet summer grasses crop up here, and the pasturage to the south loses its flavour for them."

"That's a pretty good catalogue," said Ernest, who was a keen sportsman. "Any birds?"

"The most uncommon slap-up flying game, I guess, in creation," said Seth, "if yer cares to tackle with sich like; though I prefers runnin' game, I does."

"Seth is right," said Mr Rawlings; "you will have a varied choice there likewise: grouse, partridge, prairie-fowl, wild geese, ducks—these two, however, are more to be met with in the winter months, and will be off to the Arctic regions soon—all sorts, in fact. And as to fishing, the salmon and trout—the latter of which you'll find in every stream in the neighbourhood—beat those of England."

"Well," said Ernest, laughing, "if your report be true, as I see no reason to doubt, you must have discovered those happy hunting-grounds to which all good Indians go when they die."

"Don't talk of Injuns," said Seth with a shiver and a shake. "That's the worst part of the hull thing, I reckon. If it warn't for them, the place would be a kinder paradise—it would so, sirree; but those Injuns spile it all."

"What he says is true enough," observed Mr Rawlings. "We are in the very heart of the Indian country, with Blackfeet, Crows, and Sioux, not to mention lesser fry, within striking distance; and if there should be a rising amongst them, as it is threatened this spring or summer, it would be a bad thing for the people in the sparse and scattered settlements in Dakota."

"But the United States' army has stations about here, eh?" inquired Ernest.

"Few and far between," replied Mr Rawlings. "As I told you some little time since, the nearest one to us is at least a hundred miles away. Besides that, the detachments quartered here and there are so attenuated in their numbers that five or six of the so-called companies have to be concentred together from the different outlying depots in order to muster any respectable contingent that could take the field against the Indians should they rise in force."

"An' them Sioux under Spotted Cloud, or whatever else they call their precious chief, ain't to be despised, I guess, in a free fight," said Seth.

"Pray don't talk any more about them," said the young engineer, laughing, as he took off his wideawake and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. "I declare my scalp feels quite ticklish already."

"Them redskins 'ud tickle it a sight worse if they got holt of it," said Seth grimly, cocking his rifle as he spoke. "But I reckon I heerd somethin' russlin' about thaar to the back of yer, mister," he added suddenly, gazing intently in the direction he had intimated, to the rear of the young engineer, where the prairie-grass had already grown to some height.

"What was it?" said Mr Rawlings, likewise preparing his weapon, and telling Ernest to follow suit. "Did you see it at all?"

And he peered anxiously about to the right and left.

"Yes, jist for a minnit," responded the ex-mate. "It wer a longish sorter animale; a catamount or a wolf, maybe. Thaar! Thaar! I seed it again! Jerusalem! I have it!"

And he fired as he spoke, quick as lightning, as a dark object bounded from the cover and made a direct plunge at the young engineer, who was taken unawares, and came to the ground, as much from the suddenness of the shock as from the impulse of the animal's spring.

"Stay!" shouted Mr Rawlings, as Seth was rushing forwards with his clubbed rifle to where Ernest Wilton and his assailant appeared struggling together amidst the grass that almost concealed them from view. "I'll settle the beast, if you hold back a minute and let me have a clear aim."

But before he could get a shot, or Seth deal the deadly blow he contemplated with the butt-end of his rifle, Ernest Wilton uttered an exclamation that stopped them both—an exclamation of surprise and agonised entreaty.

"Don't fire!" he cried out in a voice which was half laughing, half crying. "Don't fire, Mr Rawlings. It is only Wolf."

"Wolf! who's Wolf?" said Mr Rawlings and Seth together, as Ernest Wilton rose to his feet; the ex-mate adding under his breath, with a whistle to express astonishment on his part, in his usual way when so affected, "Jerusalem! this beats Bunker's Hill, anyhow!"

"The dearest and most faithful dog, companion, friend, that any one ever had," said Ernest with much emotion, caressing a fine, though half-starved-looking Scotch deer-hound, that appeared in paroxysms of delight at recognising his master, leaping up to his neck with loving barks, and licking his face, to express his happiness and affection in the manner customary to doggydom, almost wild with joy.

"You never told me about him?" said Mr Rawlings.

"I couldn't. The subject was too painful a one," replied the other. "I brought him with me from England, and he never quitted my side day, or even night, I believe, for any appreciable time, until those rascally Crow Indians stole him from me, and made him into their favourite dog soup, as I thought, weeks ago. Poor Wolf, old man!" he added, speaking to the faithful creature, and patting his head, "I never thought I should see you again."

"He's a fine crittur!" said Seth, making advances of friendship towards Wolf, which were cordially reciprocated; "an' I wouldn't like to lose him if I owned him, I guess. I s'pose he broke loose and follered your trail?"

"I expect so," said Ernest Wilton; "but how he managed to track me through all my erratic course amongst these mountains—or hills, as you call them—puzzles me. See," he continued, "they must have tied up the poor fellow, as well as starved him, or he would have probably found me sooner! Here is a piece of hide rope round his neck, which he has gnawed through in order to get free,"—holding up the tattered fragment of the old rope, one end of which hung down to Wolf's feet, while the other was tightly knotted about his throat, like a cravat, so as almost to choke him.

"That must have been the case," said Mr Rawlings. "But hullo! what is Jasper coming after us for?"

"That durned nigger," exclaimed Seth, "is allers shirking his work. I told him he warn't to come with us this mornin', and here he is toting arter us with some slick excuse or other. Hullo, you ugly cuss!" he added, hailing the darkey, who was running after the party and had now got close up, "what the dickens do yer want here?"

"Me see fine dawg, lubly dawg, Massa Seth, sailin' round de camp; and me foller um up, Massa Seth. Um berry good dawg for huntin', sah, and me don't want to lose him; dat's all."

"Oh," said Seth, "that's all, is it? The dorg is here, right enough, with the gentleman theer, who's his master," pointing to Ernest Wilton and Wolf. "And now, you lazy lubber, as you have kinder satisfied yer mind, you can jist go back agin to that job I sot you on."

"Prey let him stop now," said Ernest, pleased with the interest which the negro steward had taken in Wolf's fate, "as he has come so far. If we kill anything, as I hope we shall presently, he'll be of use in helping to take the meat back to the camp."

"That's so," said Seth; and with this tacit consent to his remaining, Jasper joined the party, who now proceeded to look more carefully after game than they had previously done, the young engineer's allusions to "meat" having acted as a spur to their movements, besides, no doubt, whetting their appetites.

It was curious to observe, however, before they separated to hunt up a deer—of which there were but few traces about, when Wolf attached himself, like a proper sporting-dog, closely behind Ernest—how interested the animal seemed to be in Sailor Bill, who accompanied Seth, of course, on their leaving the camp. As soon as the dog had given, as he thought, ample testimony of his delight at rejoining his own master, he sniffed about the boy as if he also were well-known to him; and he was nearly equally glad to meet him again, only leaving him when Ernest Wilton gave him the signal to "come to heel."

It was singular; but no one paid much notice to it, excepting that Mr Rawlings regarded it as another instance of how dumb animals, like savages, have some sort of especial sympathy with those afflicted beings who have not the entire possession of their mental faculties, and seem actuated by instinct rather than reason, like themselves.

"Seems, mister, as if he war kinder acquainted with him?" said Seth.

"Yes," replied Ernest Wilton; "but that's impossible, as I've had Wolf ever since he was a puppy. My aunt gave him to me," he continued aside to Mr Rawlings in a confidential key, "and I ought to have been more thoughtful in writing to her, as you hauled me over the coals just now for not doing, if only in gratitude for all the comfort that dog has been to me since I left home. I suppose I'm an ungrateful brute—more so than Wolf, eh, old fellow?"—patting the latter's head again as he looked up into his master's face with his wistful brown eyes, saying as plainly as he could in doggy language how much he would like to be able to speak, so that he could express his affectionate feelings more explicitly.

"No," said Mr Rawlings, "not ungrateful, I hope and believe, only unthinking, that's all."

"Ah!" replied the other, "'evil is wrought by want of thought,'" quoting the old distich. "But," he added, shaking off the momentary feeling of sadness produced by reflection, as if he were ashamed of it, "if we don't look 'smart,' as our friend Seth says, we won't get a shot all day; and then, woe betide the larder!"



STORY ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A CHANCE SHOT.

"Say, what precious fools we all air!" exclaimed Seth Allport all of a sudden, without any reference to anything they had been speaking about, when the hunting party stopped a moment to rest after a long and weary tramp over the seemingly-endless prairie, during which they had not caught sight of bird or beast worthy of a charge of powder and shot. "What precious fools we all air!" he repeated with the air of a Solon, and shaking his head solemnly with portentous gravity.

"Please speak for yourself," said Ernest Wilton jokingly. "Why this wholesale condemnation of our unfortunate selves? For my part, I should have thought that we were more to be pitied than blamed for our want of success."

"Oh, do you?" replied Seth gruffly—albeit he was as good-humoured as usual. "Then that's all you know about it. Don't you kinder think it raal smart neow for us to be a wearin' out shoe-leather when we've a heap o' mules eatin' their heads off and bustin' theirselves in that shanty o' theirn agin the house for want of work, I reckon?"

"Phew!" whistled Mr Rawlings through his teeth, his face assuming a mingled expression of surprise and amusement. "I declare I forgot all about the animals, I suppose because we have not lately had any occasion for their services. But they are in good condition, I've no doubt, as they have had literally nothing to do since they helped to carry our traps here in the fall, while they've fared better than us during the winter, for though forage has been scarce work has been scarcer, when our rations had sometimes to be limited. Oh, yes, they are certain to be filled out by this time, and been well looked after by our friend Jasper here," nodding kindly towards the negro steward as he spoke, that worthy having charge of the pack-mules amongst his other manifold duties as general factotum.

"Iss, Massa Rawlings," interposed Jasper, glad of the opportunity of joining in the conversation, "dey am prime. Dat obstropolus mule, Pres'dent Hayes, gib me one good kick in tummick dis marnin' when I'se feedin' him. Um jest as sassy as dat niggah Josh, iss, massa, and so is all de oder mules, sah."

"You'd better let your friend, that thaar mule, hove a shy with his heels at your woolly pate next time," said Seth in his customary grim way. "I don't think you'd kinder feel a kick thaar! But, I say, giniral," he added, turning to Mr Rawlings, "I don't see why we couldn't go a huntin' on hossback as well as afoot. It would be easier nor walkin', I guess, hey?"

"Certainly it would if we had any horses, which we haven't," said Mr Rawlings with a smile; "and mules—which are the only quadrupeds which we possess—are not exactly fitted for hunting purposes—at least I wouldn't like to try them. Besides, Seth, if I remember rightly, you do not shine quite so well on horseback as you do on a ship's quarter-deck, eh, old man? ha, ha, ha!"

And Mr Rawlings's smile expanded into a laugh at the reminiscence of one of the ex-mate's performances en cavalier soon after they came to Minturne Creek, causing Master Jasper to guffaw in sympathy with a heartiness that Seth did not at all relish, especially after Mr Rawlings's allusion to a matter which was rather a tender subject with him.

"You jest stow that, old ebony face," he said angrily to the negro, in a manner which proved that his equanimity was considerably disturbed. "You jest stow that, and hold your rampagious cacklin', or I'll soon make you rattle your ivories to another toon, I reckon, you ugly cuss!"

However, his passion had spent itself by the time he got out these words, for he said to Mr Rawlings a moment afterwards, allowing a smile to extend over his grim features to show that he was himself again, the usual easy-going Seth, and that his natural good temper had now quite got the better of its temporary attack of spleen,—"But I guess you're jist about right, Rawlings. I arn't quite fit fur to go saddlewise on them outlandish brutes; I ain't bred up to it like as I am hitched to the sea! When I spoke of riding, howsomedever, I warn't thinkin' o' myself, though, giniral, mind that; I thought as how you and our noo fren' here could kinder ride the deer down better if you wer mounted, that's all, I reckon."

"Very thoughtful of you," said Ernest Wilton drily; "but you see, old man, elk and wapiti—which are the only species of deer we are likely to meet with here, I think—can be better stalked than run down, as you suggest. However, the mules may come in handy for you, Mr Seth, to run down the buffalo, when they arrive from the southern plains here, as they'll probably do now in a week or two as the spring progresses. Look, Mr Rawlings," he added, "that buffalo grass, as it is called, there in front of you, is growing rapidly and will soon be breast high, don't you see?"

"That's right enough," said he. "But your remark reminds me of the old proverb about 'live horse and you'll get oats.' I wish we could get something now to go along with until the buffalo do come northwards. I'm sure I am more sick than ever of that monotonous salt pork, after that taste of mountain mutton we had the other day."

"You bet," said Seth laconically, with much emphasis.

And then the party resumed their trudge over the billowy surface of the prairie, directing their quest towards a clump of trees they could perceive in the distance, at a place where the ground shelved downwards into a hollow, the certain sign of the near vicinity of some tributary of the Missouri coursing its way eastwards, amidst the recesses of whose wooded banks it was possible that traces of game might be found—that game which they were already well-nigh weary of seeking. To tell the truth, however, their want of success was not at all surprising, as the experience of the hunting party was extremely limited.

The Indian half-breed and Noah Webster, the two who were the most practically versed in the secrets of woodcraft, and thoroughly acquainted with all the various hunting dodges practised out on the prairie, had been left behind in camp, especially at Seth Allport's request, that amiable worthy wishing to distinguish himself by bringing home a deer "on his own hook," as he expressed it; although, as regards his shooting powers, he was far more dangerous to his friends than any object he might aim at, being likely rather to hit those behind or on either side of him than the animal at which he pointed his weapon in front; while, as for his skill in the stealthy approach of his prey in the fashion adopted by skilled deer-stalkers, it may be mentioned that he strode through the tall prairie-grass and brushwood as incontinently as if he were marching up and down the poop of the Susan Jane in a gale of wind, alarming every winged and four-footed creature for miles round!

Touching the others, Mr Rawlings and Ernest Wilton were both good shots, although not very familiar with "the noble arte of venerie," as hunting the deer was styled in the days of Shakespeare, who is reported, by the way, to have been an adept in the pursuit: while, of course, Sailor Bill and Jasper were "out of the hunt" in the literal sense of the phrase.

"I tell you what, boys," said Mr Rawlings when they had reached the timber they had made for, "we must separate, and each of us try his luck on his own account. I'm sure we're never likely to come across anything as long as we are all in a body together like this."

The remark was made just at the right time, for they were in the likeliest spot to harbour deer they had yet tracked over; and if there was any occasion for their exercising caution and skill it was now.

The timber—mostly pine-trees and cottonwood, with low brush growing about their trunks, forming a copse—was on both sides of a small river, which seemed easily fordable, with bright green grass extending from the adjacent prairie down to the water's edge.

"Right you air, boss," said Seth, wading into the streamlet without any more ado as he spoke; "my motter's allers to go forrud, so I reckon I'll take tother side of this air stream ahead, an' you ken settle yerselves on this."

"A very good arrangement," said Mr Rawlings, not at all displeased at Seth's putting the river between them.

He and Ernest Wilton might possibly have a chance now of getting near a deer for a shot, which they could not have hoped to do as long as Seth remained along with them.

"But pray take care of the boy," he continued, as he saw Sailor Bill follow in Seth's footsteps and wade into the stream, which came up beyond his knees; "the river may be deeper than you think."

"Never fear," sang out the ex-mate lustily in response. "Thaar ain't water enough to float a cockboat; and I'm lookin' out keerful and feelin' my way afore I plant a fut, you bet."

"All right," answered Mr Rawlings.

And his feelings were soon afterwards relieved by seeing Seth and his protege reach the other side in safety.

A moment later, and they had ascended the opposite river-bank and were lest to sight, their movements being hidden from view by the clustering branches of the young pine-trees and spreading foliage of the brushwood and rank river grass, although their whereabouts was plainly betrayed for some time later by the tramp of Seth's heavy footstep and the crunching noise he made as he trod on the rotten twigs and dead wood that came across his path, the sound growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and finally dying away.

"Now," said Mr Rawlings to Ernest Wilton, who, with Jasper and the dog Wolf, still remained by his side, "we are rid of poor Seth and his blundering sportsmanship, and have the coast clear for a shot; which way would you like to go best—up or down this bank of the river?"

"Down," answered the young engineer promptly. "Seth, 'I reckon'—as he would say himself—will be certain to startle any game on that side long before he gets near it; and as the deer will probably take to the water and cross here on their back track to the hills, I may possibly get a shot at one as they pass."

"Very good," said Mr Rawlings; "please yourself. You go that way, and I'll go this, and the sooner we separate and each follow his own course, the better chance of sport we'll have. Only, mind, Wilton, don't you shoot poor Seth and Sailor Bill at one discharge of your rifle, the same as you did those three mountain-sheep the other day, eh?"

And Mr Rawlings chuckled as he strolled off up stream with the negro.

"And don't you bring down Jasper under the idea he's a blackbird," retorted Ernest Wilton before Mr Rawlings had got out of earshot, as he started down the river-bank with Wolf following closely at his heels, in the manner befitting well-trained dogs of high degree like himself.

Then followed a long silence, only broken, as far as each hunter was concerned, by the rustling of leaves and trampling of twigs as he pursued his way through the thick undergrowth, pausing every moment to examine the ground beneath his feet and the thickets he encountered, in search of deer tracks to and from the water, and giving an occasional glimpse at the prairie beyond when the trees opened a bit and their branches lifted enough to afford a view of the surrounding country, which only happened now and then, as vegetation was vigorous along both banks of the river.

Mr Rawlings, it may be mentioned before going any further, was decidedly unlucky in his quest, not catching sight of a single moving creature, although the fact must be taken into consideration that the direction he took was somewhat over the same ground that the whole party had already traversed, and that whatever game might have been in the vicinity, must have been pretty well nearly scared away before he tried his sportsman's cunning alone; Ernest Wilton, however, was more successful.

Shortly after parting from Mr Rawlings and Jasper, as he was creeping stealthily through the tall prairie-grass that bordered the grove of fine trees along the bank of the river, with Wolf following closely behind him, he noticed suddenly a movement in the undergrowth amidst the timber, just like the branch of a tree being moved slowly up and down.

Watching the spot carefully, he subsequently thought he could distinguish two little round objects that glared like the eyes of some animal; so aiming steadily between these latter, after a brief pause he fired.

His suspicions proved correct; for, almost at the same instant that the report of his rifle rang out in the clear air, a magnificent wapiti stag, with wide branching antlers, leaped from the covert, and bounded across his line of sight towards the hills on the right; although from the halting motion of the animal he could see that his shot had taken effect.

"At him, Wolf!" cried he to the dog. But Wolf did not require any command or encouragement from his master: he knew well enough what to do.

Quick as lightning, as soon as the wounded stag had jumped out from amidst the brushwood the dog leaped after him, and, in a few strides, was at his quarters. The chase was not of very long duration, for Ernest's bullet had touched some vital spot; and, within a hundred yards of where he had been struck, the wapiti dropped on his knees, made a faint attempt to stagger again to his feet, and an equally unsuccessful effort to gore Wolf, who wisely kept without his reach; and then, with a convulsive tremor running over all his vast frame, fell over on his side, dead!

"Hurrah!" shouted Ernest, so loudly that Mr Rawlings, who was not very far off, heard his shout as well as Wolf's deep baying, and was soon on the spot, where mutual congratulations were exchanged at the noble game the young engineer had brought down so unexpectedly.

"Golly, massa!" exclaimed Jasper, his face expanding into one of his customary huge grins that seemed to be "all ivory and eye-balls," as Seth used to say—"why, um will serb de camp in meat um whole week!"

"You're not far wrong," said Mr Rawlings, as he surveyed the heavy carcase of the wapiti, which was as big as an ordinary-sized pony, with a splendid pair of branching antlers; "and you'll have to go back and fetch the small waggon and a team of mules, Jasper, to take it home. It's a very fine animal, Wilton," he continued, turning to the latter, "and I almost envy you your shot!"

The young engineer made some chaffing answer, ascribing the credit of taking the game to Wolf, who stood panting guard over his prostrate prey, when the attention of both Mr Rawlings and himself was suddenly distracted from all thoughts of hunting, and everything pertaining to it, by the faint echo of a rifle-shot in the distance, again followed rapidly by another; and then, immediately afterwards, the sound of Seth Allport's voice appealing to them for aid, in ringing accents that rose above the report of the last shot.

"Help! Ahoy, there! help!"



STORY ONE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

SAILOR BILL CAPTURED.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr Rawlings, as he and Ernest Wilton looked at one another for a second in blank consternation—"I hope nothing serious has happened!" And he was just about to dash into the river and wade across to the other side, in the direction from whence Seth's shout for succour came, when the young engineer stopped him.

"You'd better wait a minute," said Ernest. "The prairie is a wide place, and sounds seem to come from one point when in reality they emanate from an entirely different spot; so, in hurrying thus to Seth's assistance, you may take the longest way to reach him. Let us return to the place where he and the boy crossed the stream; and, as soon as we reach the other bank opposite and find their track I'll put Wolf on the scent, and we'll come up with them much more quickly than you could do by crossing here and spending some time perhaps in hunting about in the brushwood over there before you could find any trace of his footsteps."

"You're right," said Mr Rawlings. "Two heads are better than one. But, pray lose no time about it," he added, as Seth's call was again heard, sounding more loudly than before—

"Help! ahoy, there! Help!"

The path back to where the entire party had halted on the bank of the river before separating, according to Mr Rawlings' suggestion, was not difficult to trace. Then, fording the stream at the point where Seth and Sailor Bill had waded across, they searched about for their tracks up and down a short distance until they were likewise found, when their task became comparatively easy, as the dog's aid was now of use.

"Hi, Wolf!" said Ernest Wilton, drawing his hand over the footmarks of Seth's heavy boots, where they entered the dense mass of brushwood below the pine-trees. "Good dog! Fetch 'em out! Hi!"

Wolf was all attention in an instant.

Looking up into his master's face with a low whine of inquiry as if to learn what he exactly meant him to do, and then putting down his nose with a significant sniff, as Ernest Wilton again drew his hand across Seth's track, he gave a loud yelp expressive of his intelligent comprehension of the duty that lay before him; bounding on in advance through the thick shrubbery, and going at such a pace that Mr Rawlings and Jasper had hard work to do to keep up with Ernest, who followed close behind the dog at a run almost.

"Steady, boy, steady!" said Ernest Wilton in a low tone, every now and then, as Wolf would turn back his head to see whether his master was near him or no, and then the sagacious animal would give an eager bark in answer, as if to say—

"I'm going on all right, old man. Don't be alarmed, I'm making no mistake about the scent."

Presently the trail diverged from underneath the timber and brushwood by the river-bank, and struck off at an angle into the open prairie, as if Seth had got tired of fighting his way amongst the overhanging branches and projecting trunks of the pine-trees.

From this point the footprints gradually led up to a little plateau above the valley through which the streamlet ran; and, arrived at the top of this, Wolf gave vent to a louder and more triumphant bark than previously, and halted in his tracks, as if waiting for Ernest to join him before proceeding any further.

The young engineer was by the dog's side in a moment, and one rapid glance round enabled him to see that the prairie extended beyond the plateau in a vast plain as far as the eye could reach, being bounded on the extreme verge of the horizon by a low range of hills or wooded heights, most probably marking, he thought, the southward course of the great Missouri river, although, as he reflected the moment after, they were much too far to the westward for that.

His attention, however, was not much given to the scenery and the picture which the spreading vast plain presented. A figure in the foreground, some little distance from the higher level on which he was standing, was gesticulating frantically towards him, and Seth's voice assured him of his identity, if he had any lingering doubt on the subject, by shouting out as soon as he had come into sight across the sky line—

"Hyar, ahoy, man! Hurry up thaar an' help a feller, can't you?"

"Here he is!" shouted out Ernest back to Mr Rawlings and Jasper, who were a few yards behind him, and, without waiting for them to come up, he hastened down the slightly shelving ground towards where the ex-mate seemed to be in some predicament, as he did not stand up, but was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, resting his head on one arm as he waved the other to the young engineer.

"Hullo! what's the matter?" asked Ernest, calling out before he reached him.

"Injuns—been wounded," said Seth, in his usual curt, laconic way.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Ernest, quite taken aback by the announcement. "Indians! And where is Sailor Bill?"

"The durned cusses have carried him off!" said Seth with a sob. "I'd a follered and got him back," added the ex-mate to Mr Rawlings, who now came up, with Jasper at his heels—the negro almost turning white with terror at the very name of the Indians being mentioned, and shaking in his shoes,—"I'd a follered an' got him back, yes sir! But them durned cusses have sent an arrowhead through my karkuss, and well-nigh broken my fut as well!"



STORY ONE, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ON THE TRAIL.

"Where are you wounded?" asked Mr Rawlings, bending over Seth, who seemed to suffer considerable pain, although he endeavoured stoically to suppress all expression of it.

"In my side, haar," replied the other, pointing to where the feathered end of an arrow could be seen protruding from his shirt; "and if yer cut off the tail of the cussed thing, I reckon you ken pull it slick through, as the head's comed out ahint me. But it's only a flesh wound, and ain't up to much, for it didn't touch my ribs."

"Well," said Mr Rawlings, "you're a bit of a doctor, Seth, and ought to know if anybody does."

"Yes, it's only a scratch, I'm sartain, or I would ha' felt it more. My fut's the wussest of the two. But, lor' sakes!" added Seth, trying to get on his legs, and quivering with excitement, although the attempt was futile, and he had to sink back again into his half-sitting, half-kneeling posture with a groan—"don't you stop here a consulting about me, Rawlings, when that poor boy's life's in peril. You and Wilton had best skate off at once and foller up them redskins as has Sailor Bill. I ken bide waal enuf till you gits back again, old man, along with Jasper, who can do all I wants."

"We won't neglect the boy," said Mr Rawlings, struck with Seth's unselfishness in ignoring his own wounded condition under the consciousness of his protege's danger, "but we must think of you all the same first." And kneeling down by the injured man's side, he proceeded, with Ernest Wilton's assistance, to cut away Seth's shirt, and then the end of the arrow, holding it firmly the while so that it should not wriggle about, and hurt him more than they could help, after which the barbed head was drawn out of the wound—which was just between the third and fourth ribs, and not very serious, as the ex-mate had thought— stanching the blood, and binding up the place with a silk handkerchief, which the young engineer had taken from round his neck for the purpose.

Mr Rawlings was immensely relieved to find that Seth was not so dangerously hit as he had at first supposed. When he saw the arrow sticking out of his side, he thought it was all up with his poor comrade; so now that the case appeared more hopeful, he was better able to consider what course should be adopted for Sailor Bill's rescue.

After a moment's deliberation, during which Seth gazed at him with a look of piteous entreaty on his face, but did not interrupt him with a word, guessing what was passing through his mind, Mr Rawlings' line of action was decided on.

"Here, Jasper," said he to the negro steward.

"Iss, massa."

"You must run back to the camp as hard as you can, and tell Noah Webster to pick out five or six of the men who can use their rifles well, and come back here with them and Moose—he wouldn't forget to bring him—to pursue the Indians. You must also bring a team of mules with the small waggon with you, the same as I told you about just now, although I did not then think to what a sad use we should put it, to take home Mr Seth in; and look sharp now—why, what's the matter?"

Jasper had started up to go at Mr Rawlings' first words; but when that gentleman spoke about the Indians while giving his directions, his alacrity and courage seemed to disappear together in company, as, instead of rushing off, as Mr Rawlings supposed, almost before he could finish speaking, there he stood, twirling his battered straw-hat about in his fingers, and looking the picture of cowardly irresolution.

"What, massa?" he tremblingly said, in answer to Mr Rawlings' interrogation, his teeth chattering with fear, and his countenance wearing a most hang-dog expression. "Me go back 'lone cross de prairee, all dat way to camp? Suppose the Injuns scalp pore niggah same as massa Seth! Golly, Massa Rawlins, um can't do it. I'se afeared!"

"You durned skunk!" exclaimed Seth, his indignation heightened probably by the pain of his wounds. "You jest make tracks at once, as Mister Rawlings says, or else I'll—" and he shook his fist expressively to complete the sentence.

"Perhaps I had better go," said Ernest Wilton at this juncture. "Jasper seems to be so frightened that he might lose his way; and, at all events, he would probably have forgotten half your instructions when he got to the creek, and give only a garbled account of what has happened. I think I would make the best messenger, unless you would prefer me to remain with you in case the Indians should return in force before we get help."

"Go by all means," answered Mr Rawlings. "I needn't tell you to hurry, my boy, you know the necessity of that, on every account! Jasper shall stop here and help defend us in case the savages assail us before you get back;" and Mr Rawlings could not help smiling as he spoke, in spite of their perilous position, at the comical idea of the cowardly Jasper acting as a protector.

"Bress us and sabe us, Massa Rawlings!" ejaculated the negro in mortal terror, about which there was no pretence or affectation. "Don't say dat, don't now! mebbe it come out for true! I'se rader go 'th Mass' Willerton, an' bring back the waggin for Mass' Seth, iss, sah."

"No you won't," said Mr Rawlings. "You hesitated to go when I told you, and now you shall stop here whether you like it or not!" emphasising his words by laying his hand on the darkey's shoulder, in such an impressive manner that he could not but submit to the command. But long before the question of Jasper's staying behind or going off with the young engineer was settled, Ernest had started off on the back track towards Minturne Creek at a brisk run, and was shortly out of sight behind the top of the plateau they had just descended from.

Prior to leaving, however, Ernest considerately ordered Wolf to remain in his place, as he would be of much service in the event of an Indian attack, telling the sagacious animal to lie at Seth's feet, with a "Hi, watch there; old man!" an order which the dog at once obeyed, while his master was off and away in an instant.

"Well, Seth," said Mr Rawlings, when the young engineer had disappeared from their gaze, "you haven't yet told me how this catastrophe occurred? But let me see your foot now, and I can examine it, and see what I can do to that while you are telling me all about it." And Mr Rawlings proceeded to cut away a portion of Seth's boot with his clasp knife—the same as he had had to do to his shirt before extracting the arrow, as it caused the poor fellow too much pain to pull it off—while the other went on with his yarn.