Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might have caused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that the piece was a hunter's rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of that kind. Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dull concussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to the ground. I was hunter enough to know the signification of this sound.

It was the game--bird or beast--that had fallen from a tree.

An American must have fired that shot; but who? There were only three or four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle--a very different weapon from the "regulation" piece--old backwoodsmen who had been indulged in their whim. It might be one of these.

Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidly as the underwood would permit me.

I kept on for five minutes or more without halting. I certainly must have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw no one; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voice reached me from behind with the words--

"By the jumpin Geehosophat! it ur the young fellur--the capt'n!"

Turning, I beheld my trapper comrades just emerging from the bushes, where they had cautiously _cached_ themselves, on hearing the hoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them.

Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler--the game I had heard drop--while upon Garey's back I observed the choice portions of a deer.

"You have been foraging to some advantage," I remarked as they came up.

"Yes, capt'n," replied Garey, "_we_ won't want for rashuns. Not but that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn't in honour accept o' it, for we promised to find for ourselves."

"Ye-es, durn it!" added Rube, "we're free mountainee men--ain't a gwine to sponge on nobody--we ain't."

"An', capt'n," continued Garey, "thar don't appear to be any great eatin' fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu'll just accept o' the turkey, and one o' these hyar quarters o' the deer-meat, thar's plenty left for Rube an' me; ain't thar, Rube?"

"Gobs!" was the laconic answer.

I was not loath to satisfy the wish of the hunters--for to say the truth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkey or venison--and having signified my assent, we all three moved away from the spot. With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into the right road. They, too, were on their return to the post. They had been in the woods since noon. They were both afoot, having left their horses at the rancheria.

After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon a narrow road. Here my companions, who were unacquainted with the neighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not which direction to take.

It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightning at intervals. Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now raining as if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time we were all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of heaven was shrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it--not even a star. Who could discover the direction in such a night?

As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; he appeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that there were wheel-tracks--deep ruts--evidently made by the rude block-wheels of a _carreta_. It was these that the trapper was scanning.

Almost as soon as a man could have read the direction from a finger-post, Rube raised himself erect, and crying out--

"All right--this-away!" set off along the road.

I was curious to know how he had determined the point, and questioned him.

"Wal, yur see, young fellur, it ur the trail o' a Mexikin cart; an'

anybody as iver seed thet ur vamint, knows it hez got only two wheels.

But thur are four tracks hyur, an' thurfor the cart must a gone back an'

fo'th, for I seed they wur the same set o' wheels. Now, 'tur raizonable to s'pose thet the back-track leads to the settlements, an' thet's thisaway."

"But how could you tell which was the back-track?"

"Wagh! thet ur easy as fallin' off a log. The back track ur the fresher by more'n a kupple o' hours."

Pondering upon the singular "instinct" that enabled our guide to distinguish the tracks, I rode on in silence.

Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some paces in the advance.

"I kud a knowd the way," he said, "'ithout the wheel-tracks: they only made things more sartint sure."

"How?" I asked. "What other clue had you?"

"The water," replied he; "'ee see, or 'ee mout, ef you'd a looked into the tracks, thet it ur runnin' this-away. Do ee hear thet thur?"

I listened. I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as of a small stream carried down a rough rocky channel.

"Yes--I hear it, but how should the water guide you?"

"Wal," continued the trapper, "it ur a branch made by the rain: we're a follerin it down; an' thurfor must kum to the river jest whur we want to git. Oncest thur, we'll soon find our way, I reck'n. Wagh! how the durned rain kums down! It 'ud drown a muss-rat. Wagh!"

The result proved the trapper's reasoning correct. The road-water was running in the direction we had taken; and shortly after, the brawling branch shot out from among the bushes, and crossed our path, diverging from it at an acute angle. We could see, however, as we plunged through the now swollen streamlet, that the current, in its general direction, was the same with our road: it would certainly guide us to the river.

It did so. Half a mile farther on we came out upon its banks, and struck the main road leading to the rancheria.

A few minutes' brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of the village, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were all three brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, who called out the usual interrogatory--

"Who goes there?"

"Friends!" I replied; "'tis you, Quackenboss?"

I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the lightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree.

"Halt! Give the countersign!" was the response in a firm, determined tone.

I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had not thought of such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trouble. I resolved, however, to make trial of the sentry.

"We haven't got the countersign. 'Tis I, Quackenboss. I am--"

I announced my name and rank.

"Don't care for all that!" was the somewhat surly rejoinder; "can't pass 'ithout the countersign."

"Yer durned fool! it's yur captin," cried Rube, in a peevish tone.

"Maybe," replied the imperturbable sentry; "can't let him pass 'ithout countersign."

I now saw that we were in a real dilemma.

"Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieutenants," I suggested, thinking that that might be the shortest way to get over the difficulty.

"Hain't got nobody to send," came the gruff voice of Quackenboss from out the darkness.

"I'll go!" promptly answered Garey--the big trapper thinking, in his innocence, there could be no reason why _he_ should not carry the message to quarters--and as he spoke, he made a step or two forward in the direction of the sentinel.

"Halt there!" thundered the voice of Quackenboss; "halt! another step, and I'll plug you with a bullet."