s a fellow feel queery
about the jeints."

"Holy vistment! An' wasn't she a raal beauty?" exclaimed the little
Irishman, with an earnestness in his manner that set the trappers
roaring again.

"Pish!" cried Rube, who had now finished loading, "yur a set o'
channering fools; that's what 'ee ur. Who palavered about a post? I've
got an ole squaw as well's the Injun. She'll hold the thing for this
child--she will."

"Squaw! You a squaw?"

"Yes, hoss; I has a squaw I wudn't swop for two o' his'n. I'll make
tracks an' fetch the old 'oman. Shet up yur heads, an' wait, will ye?"

So saying, the smoky old sinner shouldered his rifle, and walked off
into the woods.

I, in common with others, late comers, who were strangers to Rube, began
to think that he had an "old 'oman." There were no females to be seen
about the encampment, but perhaps she was hid away in the woods. The
trappers, however, who knew him, seemed to understand that the old
fellow had some trick in his brain; and that, it appeared, was no new
thing for him.

We were not kept long in suspense. In a few minutes Rube was seen
returning, and by his side the "old 'oman," in the shape of a long,
lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned mustang, that turned out on close
inspection to be a mare! This, then, was Rube's squaw, and she was not
at all unlike him, excepting the ears. She was long-eared, in common
with all her race: the same as that upon which Quixote charged the
windmill. The long ears caused her to look mulish, but it was only in
appearance; she was a pure mustang when you examined her attentively.
She seemed to have been at an earlier period of that dun-yellowish
colour known as "clay-bank," a common colour among Mexican horses; but
time and scars had somewhat metamorphosed her, and grey hairs
predominated all over, particularly about the head and neck. These
parts were covered with a dirty grizzle of mixed hues. She was badly
wind-broken; and at stated intervals of several minutes each, her back,
from the spasmodic action of the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though
she were trying to kick with her hind legs, and couldn't. She was as
thin as a rail, and carried her head below the level of her shoulders;
but there was something in the twinkle of her solitary eye (for she had
but one), that told you she had no intention of giving up for a long
time to come. She was evidently game to the backbone.

Such was the "old 'oman" Rube had promised