er acquaintance she has become his master, as
much as if their stature were reversed.

Walt does not want her for his mistress. No; the hunter is too noble,
too honourable, for that His glance following her as she flits about the
room, taking in her dainty shape, and the expression of her pretty face,
always wreathed in smiles, he has but one single-hearted desire, to
which he gives muttered expression, saying,--

"Thet's jest the kind o' gurl a fellow ked freeze to. I ne'er seed a
apple dumplin' as looked sweeter or more temptin'; an' if she's
agreeable, we two air born to be bone o' one bone, and flesh o' one
flesh!"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

A SWEET AWAKENING.

For many days the young Kentuckian remains unconscious of all that is
passing around. Fortunately for him, he has fallen into the right
hands; for the old gentleman in spectacles is in reality a medical man--
a skilled surgeon as well as a physician, and devotes all his time and
skill to restoring his patient to health.

Soon the wound shows signs of healing, and, along with it, the fever
begins gradually to abate. The brain at length relieved, reason resumes
its sway.

Hamersley becomes conscious that he still lives, on hearing voices.
They are of men. Two are engaged in a dialogue, which appears to be
carried on with some difficulty, as one is speaking English, which the
other but slightly understands. Neither is the English of the first
speaker of a very correct kind, nor is his voice at all euphonious. For
all that, it sounds in Hamersley's ears sweet as the most seraphic
music, since in its tones he recognises the voice of Walt Wilder.

A joyous throb thrills through his heart on discovering that his comrade
has rejoined him. After their parting upon the plain he had his fears
they might never come together again.

Walt is not within sight, for the conversation is carried on outside the
room. The invalid sees that he is in a room, a small one, of which the
walls are wood, roughly-hewn slabs, with furniture fashioned in a style
corresponding. He is lying upon a _catre_, or camp bedstead, rendered
soft by a mattress of bearskins, while a _serape_ of bright-coloured
pattern is spread over him, serving both for blanket and counterpane.
In the apartment is a table of the rudest construction, with two or
three chairs, evidently from the hand of the same unskilful workman,
their seats being simply hides with the hair on. On the table is a