p all night on the prairie.

We have spoken of Frank's dog; but were we to let the matter drop here,
it would be slighting an animal which had played a somewhat important
part in the history of Frank's life in California. His name was Marmion,
and he had been presented to Frank by Captain Porter--an old fur-trader,
who lived a few miles distant from the rancho, and with whom the cousins
were great favorites. Archie did not like the dog, and, if the truth
must be told, the dog had not the smallest particle of affection for
Archie. In fact, he cared for no one except his master, and that was the
reason the fur-trader had given him to Frank. He was as large as two
ordinary dogs--very courageous, and so savage that no one cared to
trouble him. He had seen some stirring times during his life, and his
body was covered with wounds, some of which were not entirely healed.
Frank was quite as fond of him as he was of Brave, and with good reason,
too. Marmion had received those wounds while fighting for his master,
and it was through his interference that Frank had been saved from a
long captivity. It happened before the commencement of our story, and
how it came to pass shall be told in the following chapters.

The house in which Frank and Archie lived stood in a grove of stately
oak-trees, and, externally, was in perfect keeping with its
surroundings. It was built of massive logs, in the form of a hollow
square, with an open court in the center, which was paved with stone.
The windows, which extended down to the floor, and which were used for
ingress and egress quite as often as the doors, were protected by
shutters made of heavy planks, and there were four loop-holes on each
side of the house, showing that it had been intended to serve as a
defense as well as a shelter. Indeed, it looked more like a
fortification than a dwelling.

The house was old, and had a history--an exciting one, too, as any one
could have told after examining it closely. The walls bore numerous
scars, which had been made by bullets, and the trees surrounding the
dwelling were marked in the same manner. The grove had not always been
as peaceful and quiet as we found it. Its echoes had been awakened by
the yells of infuriated men and the reports of hostile rifles, and the
very sod upon which Frank sometimes stretched himself after dinner, to
while away an hour with some favorite author, had been wet with blood.

When the house was built, there was not an