tang Valley lost their leader. Major Hope suddenly announced
his intention of quitting the settlement and returning to the
civilized world. Private matters, he said, required his presence
there--matters which he did not choose to speak of, but which would
prevent his returning again to reside among them. Go he must,
and, being a man of determination, go he did; but before going he
distributed all his goods and chattels among the settlers. He even
gave away his rifle, and Fan and Crusoe. These last, however, he
resolved should go together; and as they were well worth having, he
announced that he would give them to the best shot in the valley. He
stipulated that the winner should escort him to the nearest settlement
eastward, after which he might return with the rifle on his shoulder.

Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river's bank, with
a perpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as the
shooting-ground, and, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, the
competitors began to assemble.

"Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he reached the
ground and found Dick Varley there before him.

"I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a new kind o' flower that
Jack Morgan told me he'd seen. And I've found it too. Look here; did
you ever see one like it before?"

Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully examined the
flower.

"Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about the Rocky Mountains, but
never one here-away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The last
I seed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' the
Yellowstone River, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar."

"Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley,
forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear.

"It wos. I put six balls in that bar's carcass, and stuck my knife
into its heart ten times, afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped the
shirt off my back afore I wos done with it."

"I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed
Varley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly young
backwoodsman, as he joined them.

His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. It
missed fire, and it hung fire; and even when it did fire, it remained
a matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations
from the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or