s sides. The whole scene seemed parched with a pitiless,
insufferable heat.

After a while I could mount again, and we moved on, descending the rocky
defile on its western side. Thinking of that morning's journey, it
has sometimes seemed to me that there was something ridiculous in my
position; a man, armed to the teeth, but wholly unable to fight, and
equally so to run away, traversing a dangerous wilderness, on a sick
horse. But these thoughts were retrospective, for at the time I was in
too grave a mood to entertain a very lively sense of the ludicrous.

Raymond's saddle-girth slipped; and while I proceeded he was stopping
behind to repair the mischief. I came to the top of a little declivity,
where a most welcome sight greeted my eye; a nook of fresh green grass
nestled among the cliffs, sunny clumps of bushes on one side, and shaggy
old pine trees leaning forward from the rocks on the other. A shrill,
familiar voice saluted me, and recalled me to days of boyhood; that of
the insect called the "locust" by New England schoolboys, which was fast
clinging among the heated boughs of the old pine trees. Then, too, as
I passed the bushes, the low sound of falling water reached my ear.
Pauline turned of her own accord, and pushing through the boughs we
found a black rock, over-arched by the cool green canopy. An icy stream
was pouring from its side into a wide basin of white sand, from whence
it had no visible outlet, but filtered through into the soil below.
While I filled a tin cup at the spring, Pauline was eagerly plunging
her head deep in the pool. Other visitors had been there before us. All
around in the soft soil were the footprints of elk, deer, and the Rocky
Mountain sheep; and the grizzly bear too had left the recent prints of
his broad foot, with its frightful array of claws. Among these mountains
was his home.

Soon after leaving the spring we found a little grassy plain, encircled
by the mountains, and marked, to our great joy, with all the traces of
an Indian camp. Raymond's practiced eye detected certain signs by which
he recognized the spot where Reynal's lodge had been pitched and his
horses picketed. I approached, and stood looking at the place. Reynal
and I had, I believe, hardly a feeling in common. I disliked the fellow,
and it perplexed me a good deal to understand why I should look with so
much interest on the ashes of his fire, when between him and me there
seemed no other bond of sympathy than t