unger.

"Are there many men of your size and strength where you come from?"
inquired the Senator, addressing himself to the largest of the two
hunters.

"In Canada," answered the latter, "I should not be remarked among
others; ask my comrade there!"

"He speaks true," grumbled the other.

"But you are not both from the same country?" said Tragaduros.

"No--my comrade is a native of--"

"Of New York State," hastily interposed the younger of the two
trappers--a reply which astonished the Canadian, but which he refrained
from contradicting.

"And what is your calling?" continued the Senator, interrogatively.

"_Coureurs des bois_, wood-rangers," answered the Canadian. "That is to
say, we pass our time in ranging the woods, with no other object than to
avoid being shut up in towns. Alas! it is a profession likely soon to
come to an end; and when we two are gone, the race of wood-rangers will
run out in America, since neither of us has any sons to carry on the
business of their father."

There was a tone of melancholy in the last words of the trapper's speech
that contrasted strangely with his rude manner: something that seemed to
evince a certain degree of regret. Don Estevan, noticing this, now
entered into the conversation.

"I fear it is a poor business you follow, my brave fellows! But if you
feel inclined to leave it off for a while, and take a part in an
expedition that we are about to set on foot, I can promise to fill your
caps with gold dust. What say you?"

"No!" brusquely responded the younger of the trappers.

"Each to his own business," added the Canadian. "We are not
gold-seekers. We love to range freely where we please, without leader,
and without being controlled by any one--in a word, free as the sun or
the prairie breeze."

These answers were given in a tone so firm and peremptory that the
Spaniard saw it would be of no use combating a resolution which was
evidently not to be shaken, and therefore he declined to make any
further offers.

Supper was soon over, and each of the travellers set about making
himself as comfortable as possible for the remainder of the night.

In a short time all, with the exception of Tiburcio, were asleep. But
Tiburcio was yet a mere youth, an orphan, who had lately lost a mother
for whom he had a profound affection; and above all, Tiburcio was in
love--three reasons why he could not sleep. A deep sadness had
possession of his spirits. He felt himse