ent
behind the scenes, in company with a party of friends, and congratulated
the star upon his excellent acting.

"Oh, Nellie," he groaned, "don't say anything about it. If heaven will
forgive me this foolishness, I promise to quit it forever when this
season is over."

That was the way he felt about the stage, so far as his part in it was
concerned. He was a fish out of water The feeble pretensions to a stern
reality, and the mock dangers exploited, could not but fail to seem
trivial to one who had lived the very scenes depicted.

CHAPTER XXV. -- FIRST VISIT TO THE VALLEY OF THE BIG HORN.

MY brother was again bereaved in 1880 by the death of his little
daughter Orra. At her own request, Orra's body was interred in
Rochester, in beautiful Mount Hope Cemetery, by the side of little Kit
Carson.

But joy follows upon sadness, and the summer before Will spent his last
season on the stage was a memorable one for him. It marked the birth
of another daughter, who was christened Irma. This daughter is the very
apple of her father's eye; to her he gives the affection that is her
due, and round her clings the halo of the tender memories of the other
two that have departed this life.

This year, 1882, was also the one in which Will paid his first visit to
the valley of the Big Horn. He had often traversed the outskirts of
that region, and heard incredible tales from Indians and trappers of its
wonders and beauties, but he had yet to explore it himself. In his early
experience as Pony Express rider, California Joe had related to him the
first story he had heard of the enchanted basin, and in 1875, when
he was in charge of a large body of Arapahoe Indians that had been
permitted to leave their reservation for a big hunt, he obtained more
details.

The agent warned Will that some of the Indians were dissatisfied, and
might attempt to escape, but to all appearances, though he watched them
sharply, they were entirely content. Game was plentiful, the weather
fine, and nothing seemed omitted from the red man's happiness.

One night about twelve o'clock Will was aroused by an Indian guide, who
informed him that a party of some two hundred Arapahoes had started away
some two hours before, and were on a journey northward. The red man does
not wear his heart upon his sleeve for government daws to peck at.
One knows what he proposes to do after he has done it. The red man is
conspicuously among the things that are not always wh