met one--against me. "Well," I thought,
"if civilisation is not prepared to receive me, I will wait until it is."
Disappointment after disappointment, coupled with the incessant
persuasions of Yamba and my people generally, were gradually reconciling
me to savage life; and slowly but relentlessly the thought crept into my
mind that _I was doomed never to reach civilisation again_, and so
perhaps it would be better for me to resign myself to the inevitable, and
stay where I was. I would turn back, I thought, with intense bitterness
and heart-break, and make a home among the tribes in the hills, where we
would be safe from the white man and his murderous weapons. And I
actually _did_ turn back, accompanied, of course, by Yamba. We did not
strike due north again, as it was our intention to find a permanent home
somewhere among the ranges, at any rate for the ensuing winter. It was
out of the question to camp where we were, because it was much too cold;
and besides Yamba had much difficulty in finding roots.

Several days later, as we were plodding steadily along, away from the
ranges that I have spoken of as lying to the south, Yamba, whose eyes
were usually everywhere, suddenly gave a cry and stood still, pointing to
some peculiar and unmistakable footprints in the sandy ground. These,
she confidently assured me, were those of a white man _who had lost his
reason_, and was wandering aimlessly about that fearful country. It was,
of course, easy for her to know the white man's tracks when she saw them,
but I was curious how she could be certain that the wanderer had lost his
reason. She pointed out to me that, in the first place, the tracks had
been made by some one wearing boots, and as the footprints straggled
about in a most erratic manner, it was clearly evident that the wearer
could not be sane.

Even at this time, be it remembered, I was burning with rage against the
whites, and so I decided to follow the tracks and find the individual who
was responsible for them. But do not be under any misapprehension. My
intentions were not philanthropic, but revengeful. I had become a black-
fellow myself now, and was consumed with a black-fellow's murderous
passion. At one time I thought I would follow the whole party, and kill
them in the darkness with my stiletto when opportunity offered.

The new tracks we had come upon told me plainly that the party had
separated, and were therefore now in my power. I say thes