d yards the proper charge was as much powder as would cover the
bullet in the palm of the hand. In the long range shots the weapon was
surprisingly accurate, and one thoughtful and intelligent hunter, who
had guided several English sporting parties, gave the credit to the
pointed bullets.

"Thar ain't no doubt about it, pardner," he confided to Tom as he slyly
produced his own bullet mold, and showed it to his companion. "I've
tried 'em out in my own rifle, an' they shore do shoot straighter an'
further. This hyar mold war give ter me by a city hunter I had in my
party when we found it would fit my rifle. I ain't usin' th' old un no
more. Rub a leetle b'ar grease or buffaler tallow on th' patch paper,
young man, ter make 'em go down easier. Thar good beaver."

The sun set in a gold and crimson glory, working its magic metamorphosis
on river, banks, and bottoms, painting the colored cliffs and setting
afire the crystals in which their clay was rich. Though usually the
scenery along this river at this time of the year was nothing to boast
of, there were certain conditions under which it resembled a fairyland.
The rolling wavelets bore their changing colors across the glowing water
and set dancing myriad flashes of sunlight; streaks of sunlight reached
in under the trees along the bank and made fairy paths among the
trunks, while the imbedded crystals in the clay bluffs glittered in
thousands of pin-points of iridescent flame.

When supper time came around Tom still felt a little reluctant to meet
Patience, worried by how she might greet him, although her actions
preceding the fight should have told him that his fears were groundless.
To his great relief she met him as graciously as she had before, and as
a matter of fact he thought he detected a little more warmth and
interest, but discounted this because he feared that his judgment might
be biased in his favor by his hopes.

Uncle Joe apparently had forgotten all about the affair and did not
refer to it in any way, confining himself to subjects connected with the
great southwest highway, its trade, outfitting, the organization of the
caravans, the merchandising at Santa Fe and bits of historical and
personal incidents, not forgetting to comment on the personality of
Armijo and his arbitrary impost of five hundred dollars on each wagon to
cross the boundary, regardless of what its contents might be. He
chuckled over the impost, for the goods which he had sent up to
In