er.

"Ay," muttered Lincoln, finishing the sentence; "if the Yankee's bullet
hadn't been needed for the varmint, some o' yer wudn't a' been waggin'
yer clappers as ye air."

"It _was_ you, then?" I asked, turning to the hunter.

"'Twur, Cap'n; but for the cussed catawampus, I 'ud 'a gin Mister
Dubrosc _his_ ticket. I hed a'most sighted him when I seed the flash o'
the thing's eye, an' I knowed it wur a-gwine to strike the gal."

"And Jack?" I inquired, now for the first time thinking of the boy.

"I guess he's safe enuf, Cap'n. I sent the little feller back with word
ter the kurnel."

"Ha! then we may expect them from camp?"

"No doubt on it, Cap'n; but yer see, if they kum, they may not be able
to foller us beyond the rancho. So it'll be best for us not to depend
on them, but ter take Rowl's track."

"You are right. Lead on, Raoul!"

After a painful journey we reached the thicket of which Raoul had
spoken; and, dragging ourselves into it, we came to a small opening,
covered with long dry grass. Upon this luxurious couch we resolved to
make a bivouac. We were all worn down by the fatigues of the day and
night preceding, and, throwing ourselves upon the grass, in a few
minutes were asleep.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

A NEW AND TERRIBLE ENEMY.

It was daylight when I awoke--broad daylight. My companions, all but
Clayley, were already astir, and had kindled a fire with a species of
wood known to Raoul, that produced hardly any smoke. They were
preparing breakfast. On a limb close by hung the hideous, human-like
carcass of an iguana, still writhing. Raoul was whetting a knife to
skin it, while Lincoln was at some distance, carefully reloading his
rifle. The Irishman lay upon the grass, peeling bananas and roasting
them over the fire.

The iguana was soon skinned and broiled, and we all of us commenced
eating with good appetites.

"Be Saint Pathrick!" said Chane, "this bates frog-atin' all hollow.
It's little meself dhramed, on the Owld Sod, hearin' of thim niggers in
furrin parts, that I'd be turning kannybawl meself some day!"

"Don't you like it, Murtagh?" asked Raoul jocosely.

"Och! indade, yes; it's betther than an empty brid-basket; but if yez
could only taste a small thrifle ov a Wicklow ham this mornin', an' a
smilin' pratie, instid of this brown soap, yez--."

"Hisht!" said Lincoln, starting suddenly, and holding the bite half-way
to his mouth.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll tel