le defense, when
the attention of his hearers seemed distracted by something on the trail
by which the original settlers had entered the village.

Spidertracks himself looked, shaded his eyes, indulged in certain
disconnected fragments of profanity, and finally exclaimed:

"Axell himself, by the white coat of Horace Greeley! Wonder who he's got
with him! They seem to be having a difficulty about something!"

The gentlemen who had arraigned Spidertracks allowed him to be acquitted
by default. Far better to them was a fight near by than the most
interesting lady afar off.

They stuck their hands into their pockets, and stared intently. Finally
one of them, in a tone of disgusted resignation, remarked:

"Axell ought to be ashamed of hisself; he's draggin' along a little
feller not half the size _he_ is. Blamed if he ain't got his match,
though; the little feller's jest doin' some gellorious chawin' an'
diggin'."

The excitement finally overcame the inertia of the party, and each man
started deliberately to meet the major and his captive. Spidertracks,
faithful to his profession, kept well in advance of the others. Suddenly
he exclaimed to himself:

"Good Lord! don't they know each other? The major didn't wear that beard
when in New York; but the boy--he's just the same scamp, in spite of his
dirt and rags. If _she_ were to see them now--but, pshaw! 'twould all
fall flat--no live paper to take hold of the matter and work it up."

"There, curse your treacherous heart!" roared the major, as he gave his
prisoner a push which threw him into the reporter's arms. "Now we're in
a civilized community, and you'll have a chance of learning the opinions
of gentlemen on such irregularities. Tried to kill me, gentlemen, upon
my honor!--did it after I had shared my eatables and pocket-pistol with
him, too. Did it to get my dust. Got me at a disadvantage for a moment,
and made a formal demand for the dust, and backed his request with a
pistol--my own pistol, gentlemen! I've only just reached here; I don't
yet know who's here, but I imagine there's public spirit enough to
discourage treachery. Will some one see to him while I take something?"

Spidertracks drew his revolver, mildly touched the young man on the
shoulder, and remarked:

"Come on."

The ex-knight of the pencil bowed his prisoner into an abandoned
gopher-hole (_i.e._, an artificial cave,) cocked his revolver, and then
stretched himself on the ground and devoted hi