untains, but
never one here-away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The last I
seed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' the Yellowstone
River, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar."

"Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley,
forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear.

"It was. I put six balls in that bar's carcase, and stuck my knife into
its heart ten times afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped the shirt
off my back afore I was done with it."

"I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed Varley,
with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly young
backwoodsman, as he joined them.

His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. It
missed fire, and it hung fire, and even when it did fire it remained a
matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations from
the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or _its_
bad shooting.

Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or more
hunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed,
bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they would
prove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight.
A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with the prize
rifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the latter
tumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy, and
happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that it had been
nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before.

Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussed
with animation.

And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never before
been seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel and
larger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time, and,
besides being of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted. But the
grand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it the
mystery of mysteries to the savages, was, that it had two sets of
locks--one percussion, the other flint--so that, when caps failed, by
taking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it was
converted into a flint-rifle. The major, however, took care never to
run short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as a reserve
in case of need.

"Now, lads," cried Ma