I was equally at a loss to account for their being acquainted with the cause that had brought _me_ there. That they were so, was evident from their conversation. Where could they have procured their information on this head? Neither of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the army anywhere; certainly not, else I should have heard of them. Indeed, either of them would have made himself known to me, as a strong friendship had formerly existed between us.

But they alone could give me an explanation, and, without further conjecture, I turned to them.

"Rube! Garey!" I said, holding out my hand.

"Hilloo! yur a-comin too, young fellur. Thet's right; but thur now--lay still a bit--don't worrit yurself; y'ull be stronger by'm by."

"Take a sup o' this," said the other, with an air of rude kindness, at the same time holding out a small gourd, which I applied to my lips. It was _aguardiente_ of El Paso, better known among the mountain-men as "Pass-whisky." The immediate effect of this strong, but not bad spirit, was to strengthen my nerves, and render me abler to converse.

"I see you reccollects us, capt'n," said Garey, apparently pleased at the recognition.

"Well, old comrades--well do I remember you."

"We ain't forgot you neyther. Rube an I often talked about ye. We many a time wondered what hed becomed o' you. We heerd, of coorse, that you hed gone back to the settlements, an that you hed come into gobs o'

property, an hed to change yur name to git it--"

"Durn the name!" interrupted Rube. "I'd change mine any day for a plug o' Jeemes River bacca; thet wud I sartint."

"No, capt'n," continued the young trapper, without heeding Rube's interruption, "we hedn't forgot you, neyther of us."

"That we hedn't!" added Rube emphatically: "forgot ye--forgot the young fellur as tuk ole Rube for a grizzly! He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo! How Bill hyur did larf when I gin him the account o' that bissnes in the cave. Bill, boy, I niver seed you larf so in all my life. Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly! He, he, he!--Ho, ho, hoo!"

And the old trapper went off into a fit of laughing that occupied nearly a minute. At the end of it, he continued:--

"Thet wur a kewrious bit o' dodgin--wa'nt it, young fellur? You saved my ole karkidge thet time, an I ain't a-gwine to forgit it; no, this child ain't."

"I think you have repaid me; you have rescued me from the bear?"

"From _one_ bar _preehaps_ we did, but from t'other grizzly you rescooed yurself; an', young fellur, you must a fit a putty consid'able bout afore the vamint knocked under. The way you hev gin him the bowie ur a caution to snakes, I reck'n."

"What! were there two bears?"

"Look thur! thur's a kupple, ain't thur?"

The trapper pointed in the direction of the fire. Sure enough, the carcasses of _two_ bears lay upon the ground, both skinned, and partially cut up!

"I fought with only one."

"An thet wur enuf at a time, an a leetle more, I reck'n. 'Tain't many as lives to wag thur jaws arter a stan-up tussle wi' a grizzly. Wagh!

how you must have fit, to a rubbed out thet bar!"

"I _killed_ the bear, then?"

"Thet you sartintly did, young fellur. When Bill an me kim on the groun, the bar wur as dead as pickled pork. We thort yur case wa'nt any better. Thur you lay a-huggin the bar, an the bar a-huggin you, as ef both on yur hed gone to sleep in a sort o' friendly way, like the babbies in the wood, exceptin thet you wa'nt kivered wi' leaves. But thur wur yur claret a kiverin the paraira for yurds round. Thur wa'nt as much blood in you as wud a gin a leech his breakfist."

"The other bear?"

"She kum arterwards out o' the gully. Bill, he wur gone to look arter the white hoss. I wur sittin aside you, jest hyur, when I seed the vamint's snout pokin up. I knowd it wur the she-bar a-comin to see where ole Eph had strayed to. So I tuk up Targuts, an plummed the critter in the eye, an thet wur the eend o' _her_ trampin.

"Now, lookee hyur, young fellur! I ain't no doctur, neyther's Bill, but I knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet you must lay still, an stop talkin. Yur mighty bad scratched, I tell ye, but yur not dangerous, only you've got no blood in yur body, an you must wait till it gathers agin. Take another suck out o' the gourd. Thur now, come, Billee! leave 'im alone. Le's go an hev a fresh toothfull o' bar-meat."

And so saying, the leathery figure moved off in the direction of the fire, followed by his younger companion.

Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about the other points that puzzled me--about the steed, the trappers' own presence, their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antecedents--I knew it would be useless to question Old Rube any further after what he had said; I was compelled, therefore, to follow his advice, and remain quiet.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

VOWS OF VENGEANCE.

I soon fell asleep again, and this time slept long and profoundly.

It was after nightfall,--in fact, near midnight, when I awoke. The air had grown chilly, but I found I had not been neglected; my serape was wrapped closely around me, and with a buffalo-robe, had sufficiently protected me from the cold while I slept.

On awaking, I felt much better and stronger. I looked around for my companions. The fire had gone out--no doubt intentionally extinguished, lest its glare amid the darkness might attract the eye of some roving Indian. The night was a clear one, though moonless; but the heaven was spangled with its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make out the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing horses. Of the former, one only was asleep; the other sat upright, keeping guard over the camp. He was motionless as a statue: but the small spark gleaming like a glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco pipe, gave token of his wakefulness. Dim as the light was, I could distinguish the upright form to be that of the earless trapper. It was Garey who was sleeping.

I could have wished it otherwise. I was anxious to have some conversation with the younger of my companions; I was longing for an explanation, and I should have preferred addressing myself to Garey.

My anxiety would not allow me to wait, and I turned towards Rube. He sat near me, and I spoke in a low tone, so as not to awake the sleeper.

"How came you to find me?"

"By follerin yur trail."

"Oh, you followed me then! From the settlements?"

"Not so fur. Bill an me wur camped in the chapparil, an spied you a gallupin arter the white hoss, as ef all the devils out o' hell wur arter you. I knowd yur at a glimp; so did Bill. Sez I: 'Bill, thet ur's the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly up thur in the mountains,'

and the reckoleckshun o' the sark'instance sot me a larfin till my ole ribs ached. 'It ur the same,' sez Bill; an jest then, we met a Mexikin who hed been yur guide, gallupin about in sarch o' you. He gin us a story 'bout some gurl thet hed sent you to catch the white hoss; some saynyora with a dodrotted long name. 'Durn the weemen!' sez I to Bill.

Didn't I, Bill?"

To this interesting interrogatory, Garey, who was but half asleep, gave an assenting grunt.

"Wal," continued Rube, "seem thur wur a pettycoat in the case, I sez to Bill, sez I: 'Thet young fellur ain't a-gwine to pull up till eyther he grups the hoss, or the hoss gits clur off.'

"Now, I know'd you wur well mounted, but I knowd you wur arter the fastest critter on all these parairas; so I sez to Bill, sez I: 'Billee, thur boun for a long gallup.' Sez Bill: 'Thet ur sartin.'

"Wal! Bill and me tuk the idee in our heads, thet you mout git lost, for we seed the white hoss wur a makin for the big paraira. It ain't the biggest paraira in creashun, but it ur one of the wust to git strayed on. Yur greenhorns wur all gone back, so Bill and me catched up our critters, an as soon as we kud saddle 'em, put arter you. When we kumd out in the paraira, we seed no signs o' you, 'ceptin yur trail.

Thet we follered up; but it wur night long afore we got half way hyur, an wur obleeged to halt till sun-up.

"Wal--in the mornin, the trail wur nurly blind, on account o' the rain; an it tuk us a good spell afore we reached the gully. 'Thur,' sez Bill, 'the hoss hes jumped in, an hyur's the trail o' the young fellur leadin down the bank.' Wal, we wur jest turn in to go down, when we seed yur own hoss a good ways off on the paraira, 'ithout saddle or bridle. We rid straight for him, an when we got closter, we seed somethin on the groun, right under the hoss's nose. Thet somethin turned out to be yurself an the grizzly, lyin in grups, as quiet as a kupple o' sleepin 'possums. Yur hoss wur a squealin like a bag o' wild-cats, an at fust Bill an me thort you hed gone under. But upon a closter view, we seed you wur only a faintin, while the bar wur as dead as a buck. Of coorse we sot about docterin you, to fotch you roun agin."

"But the steed? the white steed?"

"Bill hyur grupped him in the gully. A leetle further down it's stopped up wi' big rocks. We knowd thet, for we'd been over this groun' afore.

We knowd the hoss kudn't a got over the rocks, an Bill went arter an foun him, on a ledge whur he hed clomb out o' reech o' the flood; an then he lazooed the critter, an fotched 'im up hyur. Now, young fellur, you've got the hul story."

"An the hoss," added Garey, rising from his recumbent position, "he's yourn, capt'n. Ef you hadn't rid him down, I couldn't a roped him so easy. He's yourn, ef yu'll accept o' him."

"Thanks, thanks! not for the gift alone, but I may thank you for my life. But for you, I might never have left this spot. Thanks! old comrades, thanks!"