ure are going on, Cully--who, with
several others, has been collecting the arms and accoutrements of their
slain enemies--gives utterance to a cry that brings a crowd of his
comrades around him.

"What is it, Nat?" inquires the Ranger captain.

"Look hyar, cap! D'ye see this gun?"

"Yes; a hunter's rifle. Whose is it?"

"That's jess the questyin; though thar ain't no questyin about it.
Boys, do any o' ye recognise this hyar shootin' iron?"

One after another the Rangers step up, and look at the rifle.

"I do," says one.

"And I," adds another.

And a third, and fourth, make the same affirmation, all speaking in
tones of surprise.

"Walt Wilder's gun," continues Cully, "sure an' sartin. I know it, an
oughter know it. See them two letters in the stock thar--`WW.' Old Nat
Cully hez good reezun to recconise them, since 'twas hisself that cut
'em. I did it for Walt two yeern ago, when we war scoutin' on the
Collyrado. It's his weepun, an' no mistake."

"Where did you find it?" inquires the captain.

"I've jess tuk it out o' the claws o' the ugliest Injun as ever made
trail on a puraira--that beauty thar, whose karkidge the buzzards won't
be likely to tech."

While speaking Cully points to a corpse. It is that of the Tenawa
chief, already identified among the slain.

"He must a' hed it in his clutch when suddenly shot down," pursues the
guide. "An' whar did he git it? Boys, our ole kummerade's wiped out
for sartin. I know how Walt loved that thar piece. He w'udn't a parted
wi' it unless along wi' his life."

This is the conviction of several others acquainted with Wilder. It is
the company of Rangers to which he formerly belonged.

"Thar's been foul play somewhar," continues Cully. "Walt went back to
the States--to Kaintuck, ef this chile ain't mistook. But 'tain't
likely he stayed thar; he kedn't keep long off o' the purairas. I tell
ye, boys, these hyar Injens hev been makin' mischief somewhar'. Look
thar, look at them leggin's! Thar's no eend o' white sculps on' 'em,
an' fresh tuk, too!"

The eyes of all turned towards these terrible trophies that in gory
garniture fringe the buck-skin leg-wear of the savages. Cully, with
several others who knew Wilder well, proceed to examine them, in full
expectation of finding among them the skin of their old comrade's head.
There are twelve scalps, all of white men, with others that are Indian,
and not a few that exhibit the equally black, but sh