Now I see them but dimly--I see them no longer I fainted, and was again insensible.

Once more I became conscious, and this time felt stronger: I could better understand what was passing around me. I observed that the sun was going down; a buffalo robe, suspended upon two upright saplings, guarded his slanting rays from the spot where I lay. My seraph was under me, and my head rested in my saddle, over which another robe had been laid. I lay upon my side, and the position gave me a view of all that was passing. A fire was burning near, by which were two persons, one seated, the other standing. My eyes passed from one to the other, scanning each in turn.

The younger stood leaning on his rifle, looking into the fire. He was the type of a "mountain man," a trapper. He was full six feet in his moccasins, and of a build that suggested the idea of strength and Saxon ancestry. His arms were like young oaks; and his hand grasping the muzzle of his gun, appeared large, fleshless, and muscular. His cheek was broad and firm, and was partially covered with a bushy whisker, that met over the chin; while a beard of the same colour--dull brown--fringed his lips. The eye was grey, or bluish grey, small, well-set, and rarely wandering. The hair was light brown; and the complexion of the face, which had evidently once been blonde, was now nearly as dark as that of a half-breed. Sun-tan had produced this metamorphosis. The countenance was prepossessing: it might have been once handsome. Its expression was bold, but good-humoured, and bespoke a kind and generous nature.

The dress of this individual was the well-known costume of his class--a hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, smoked to the softness of a glove; leggings reaching to the hips, and fringed down the seams; moccasins of true Indian make, soled with buffalo hide (_parfleche_). The hunting-shirt was belted around the waist, but open above, so as to leave the throat and part of the breast uncovered; but over the breast could be seen the under-shirt, of finer material--the dressed skin of the young antelope, or the fawn of the fallow-deer. A short cape, part of the hunting-shirt, hung gracefully over the shoulders, ending in a deep fringe cut out of the buckskin itself. A similar fringe embellished the draping of the skirt. On the head was a raccoon-cap-- the face of the animal over the front, while the barred tail, like a plume, fell drooping over the left shoulder.

The accoutrements were a bullet-pouch, made from the undressed skin of a tiger-cat, ornamented with the head of the beautiful summer-duck. This hung under the right arm, suspended by a shoulder-strap; and attached, in a similar manner, was a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which was carved many a strange souvenir. His arms consisted of a knife and pistol--both stuck in the waist-belt--and a long rifle, so straight that the line of the barrel seemed scarcely to deflect from that of the butt.

But little attention had been paid to ornament in either his dress, arms, or equipments; and yet there was a gracefulness in the hang of his tunic-like shirt, a stylishness about the fringing and bead-embroidery, and an air of jauntiness in the set of the 'coon-skin cap, that showed the wearer was not altogether unmindful of his personal appearance. A small pouch or case, ornamented with stained porcupine quills, hung down upon his breast. This was the pipe-holder--no doubt a _gage d'amour_ from some dark-eyed, dark-skinned damsel, like himself a denizen of the wilderness.

His companion was very different in appearance; unlike him, in almost every respect, unlike anybody in the world.

The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking. He was seated on the opposite side of the fire, with his face partially turned towards me, and his head sunk down between a pair of long lank thighs.

He looked more like the stump of a tree dressed in dirt-coloured buckskin than a human being; and had his arms not been in motion, he might have been mistaken for such an object. Both his arms and jaws were moving; the latter engaged in polishing a rib of meat which he had half roasted over the coals.

His dress--if dress it could be called--was simple as it was savage. It consisted of what might have once been a hunting-shirt, but which now looked more like a leathern bag with the bottom ripped open, and sleeves sewed into the sides. It was of a dirty-brown colour, wrinkled at the hollow of the arms, patched round the armpits, and greasy all over; it was fairly "caked" with dirt. There was no attempt at either ornament or fringe. There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawn upon from time to time for patches and other uses, until scarcely a vestige of it remained. The leggings and moccasins were on a par with the shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide.

They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy. They did not meet each other, but left bare a piece of the ankle, and that also was dirt-brown like the buckskin. There was no undershirt, waistcoat, or other garment to be seen, with the exception of a close-fitting cap, which had once been catskin; but the hair was all worn off, leaving a greasy, leathery-looking surface, that corresponded well with the other parts of the dress. Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins, looked as if they had never been stripped off since the day they were first tried on, and that might have been many a year ago. The shirt was open, displaying the naked breast and throat; and these, as well as the face, hands, and ankles, had been tanned by the sun and smoked by the fire to the hue of rusty copper. The whole man, clothes and all, looked as if he had been smoked on purpose.

His face bespoke a man of sixty, or thereabout; his features were sharp, and somewhat aquiline; and the small eyes were dark, quick, and piercing. His hair was black, and cut short; his complexion had been naturally brunette, though there was nothing of the Frenchman or Spaniard in his physiognomy. He was more likely of the black-Saxon breed.

As I looked at this man, I saw that there was a strangeness about him, independently of the oddness of his attire. There was something peculiar about his head--something _wanting_.

What was it that was wanting? It was his ears!

There is something awful in a man without his ears. It suggests some horrid drama--some terrible scene of cruel vengeance: it suggests the idea of crime committed and punishment inflicted.

I might have had such unpleasant imaginings, but that I chanced to know why those ears were wanting. I remembered the man who was sitting before me!

It seemed a dream, or rather the re-enactment of an old scene. Years before, I had seen that individual, and for the first time, in a situation very similar. My eyes first rested upon him, seated as he was now, over a fire, roasting and eating. The attitude was the same; the _tout ensemble_ in no respect different. There was the same greasy catskin cap, the same scant leggings, the same brown buckskin covering over the lanky frame. Perhaps neither shirt nor leggings had been taken off since I last saw them. They appeared no dirtier, however; that was not possible. Nor was it possible, having once looked upon the wearer, ever to forget him. I remembered him at a glance--Reuben Bawling, or "Old Rube," as he was more commonly called, one of the most celebrated of trappers.

The younger man was "Bill Garey," another celebrity of the same profession, and old Rube's partner and constant companion.

My heart gladdened at the sight of these old acquaintances. I knew I was with friends.

I was about to call out to them, when my eye wandering beyond rested upon the group of horses, and what I saw startled me from my recumbent position.

There was Rube's old, blind, bare-ribbed, high-boned, long-eared mare-mustang. Her lank grizzled body, naked tail, and mulish look, I remembered well. There, too, was the large powerful horse of Garey, and there was my own steed Moro picketed beside them! This was a joyful surprise to me, as he had galloped off after his escape from the bear, and I had felt anxious about recovering him.

But it was not the sight of Moro that caused me to start with astonishment; it was at seeing another well-remembered animal--another horse. Was I mistaken? Was it an illusion? Were my eyes or my fancy again mocking me?

No! It was a reality. There was the noble form, the graceful and symmetrical outlines, the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail, the upright jetty ears--all were before my eyes. It was he--_the white steed of the prairies_!

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A QUEER CONVERSATION.

The surprise, with the exertion I had made in raising myself, overcame me, and I fell back in a swoon.

It was but a momentary dizziness, and in a short while I was again conscious.

Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and having applied something cold to my temples, stood near me conversing: I heard every word.

"Durn the weemen!" (I recognised Rube's voice); "thur allers a gittin a fellur into some scrape. Hyur's a putty pickle to be in, an all through a gurl. Durn the weemen! sez I."

"We-ell," drawlingly responded Garey, "pre-haps he loves the gal. They sez she's mighty hansum. Love's a strong feelin, Rube."

Although I had my eyes partially open, I could not see Rube, as he was standing behind the suspended robe; but a gurgling, clucking sound-- somewhat like that made in pouring water from a bottle--reached my ears, and told me what effect Garey's remark had produced upon his companion.

"Cuss me, Bill!" the latter at length rejoined--"cuss me! ef yur ain't as durned a fool as the young fellur hisself! Love's a strong feelin!

He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Wal, I guess it must a be to make sich dodrotted fools o' reezunable men. As yit, it hain't afooled this child, I reck'n."

"You never knewd what love war, old hoss?"

"Thur yur off o' the trail, Bill-ee. I _did_ oncest--yis, oncest I wur in love, plum to the toe-nails. But thet wur a gurl to git sweet on.

Ye-es, thet she wur, an no mistake!"

This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like the blowing of a buffalo.

"Who wur the gal?" inquired Garey after a pause. "White, or Injun?"

"Injun!" exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous tone. "No; I reck'n not, boyee. I don't say thet, _for a wife_, an Injun ain't jest as good as a white, an more convaynient she are to git shet of when yur tired o' her.

I've hed a good grist o' squaws in my time--hef-a-dozen maybe, an maybe more--but this I _kin_ say, an no boastin neyther, thet I never sold a squaw yet for a plug o' bacca less than I gin for her; an on most o' 'em I made a clur profit. Thurfur, Billee, I don't object to a Injun fur a wife: but _wives_ is one thing, an _sweethearts_ is diff'rent, when it comes to thet. Now the gurl I'm a-talkin 'bout wur my sweetheart."

"She wur a white gal, then?"

"Are allyblaster white? She wur white as the bleached skull o' a huffier; an sesh har! 'Twur as red as the brush o' a kitfox! Eyes, too. Ah, Billee, boy, them wur eyes to squint out o'! They wur as big as a buck's, an as soft as smoked fawn-skin. I never seed a pair o'

eyes like hern!"

"What wur her name?"

"Her name wur Char'ty, an as near as I kin remember, her other name wur Holmes--Char'ty Holmes. Ye-es, thet wur the name.

"'Twur upon Big-duck crick in the Tennessee bottom, the place whur this child chawed his fust hoe-cake. Let me see--it ur now more'n thirty yeer ago. I fust met the gurl at a candy-pullin; an I reccollex well we wur put to eat taffy agin one another. We ate till our lips met; an then the kissin--thet wur kissin, boyee. Char'ty's lips wur sweeter than the treakle itself!

"We met oncest agin at a corn-shuckin, an arterwards at a blanket-trampin, an thur's whur the bisness wur done. I seed Char'ty's ankles as she wur a-trampin out the blankets, as white an smooth as peeled poplar. Arter thet 'twur all up wi' Reuben Rawlins. I approached the gurl 'ithout more ado; an sez I: 'Char'ty,' sez I, 'I freeze to you;' an sez she: 'Reuben, I cottons to you.' So I immeediantly made up to the ole squire--thet ur Squire Holmes--an axed him for his darter. Durn the ole skunk! he refused to gin her to me!

"Jest then, thur kum a pedlar from Kinneticut, all kivered wi' fine broadcloth. He made love to Char'ty; an wud yur b'lieve it, Bill? the gurl married him! Cuss the weemen! thur all alike.

"I met the pedlar shortly arter, and gin _him_ sech a larrupin as laid him up for a month; but I hed to clur out for it, an I then tuk to the plains.

"I never seed Char'ty arterward, but I heerd o' her oncest from a fellur I kim acrosst on the Massoury. She wur a splendid critter; an if she ur still livin, she must hev a good grist o' young uns by this, for the fellur said she'd hed a kupple o' twins very shortly arter she wur married, with _har an eyes jest like herself_! Wal, thur's no kalklatin on weemen, any how. Jest see what this young fellur's got by tryin to sarve 'em. Wagh!"

Up to this moment I took no part in the conversation, nor had I indicated to either of the trappers that I was aware of their presence.

Everything was enveloped in mystery. The presence of the white steed had sufficiently astonished me, and not less that of my old acquaintances, Rube and Garey. The whole scene was a puzzle.