s eye was fixed, and looked
steadfastly in one direction--as though it would pierce the sheet of
flame that rolled farther and farther from where we stood, and nearer to
the fatal spot. The expression of Garey's eye was fearful to behold; it
was a look of concentrated agony. A single tear had escaped from it,
and was rolling down the rude weather-bronzed cheek, little used to such
bedewing. The broad chest was heaving in short quick spasms, and it was
evident the man was struggling with his breath. He was listening
through all this intensity of gaze--listening for the death-shriek of
his old comrade--his bosom-friend!

Not long was the suspense; though there was no shriek, no cry of human
voice, to indicate the crisis. If any arose, it was not heard by us.
It could not have been; it would have been drowned amid the roar of the
flames, and the crackling of the hollow culms, whose pent-up gases, set
free by the fire, sounded like the continuous rolling of musketry. No
death-cry fell upon our ears; but, for all that, we were satisfied that
the drama had reached its _denouement_: the unfortunate trapper had been
roasted alive!

Already the flames had passed over the spot where we had last seen him--
far beyond--leaving the ground charred and black behind them. Though
the smoke hindered our _view_ of the plain, we knew that the climax had
passed: the hapless victim had succumbed; and it remained only to look
for his bones among the smouldering ashes.

Up to this moment Garey had stood in a fixed attitude, silent and rigid
as a statue. It was not hope that had held him thus spell-bound; he had
entertained no such feeling from the first: it was rather a paralysis
produced by despair.

Now that the crisis was over, and he felt certain that his comrade had
perished, his muscles, so long held in tension, suddenly relaxed--his
arms fell loosely to his sides--the tears chased each other over his
cheeks--his head reclined forward, and in a hoarse husky voice he
exclaimed:

"O God! he's rubbed out, rubbed out! We've seed the last o' poor Old
Rube!"

My sorrow, though perhaps not so keen as that of my companion, was
nevertheless sufficiently painful. I knew the earless trapper well--had
been his associate under strange circumstances--amid scenes of danger
that draw men's hearts more closely together than any phrases of
flattery or compliment. More than once had I seen him tried in the hour
of peril; and I knew that,