, in its general direction,
was the same with our road: it would certainly guide us to the river.

It did so. Half a mile farther on we came out upon its banks, and
struck the main road leading to the rancheria.

A few minutes' brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of the
village, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were all
three brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, who
called out the usual interrogatory--

"Who goes there?"

"Friends!" I replied; "'tis you, Quackenboss?"

I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the
lightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree.

"Halt! Give the countersign!" was the response in a firm, determined
tone.

I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had not thought
of such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trouble. I resolved,
however, to make trial of the sentry.

"We haven't got the countersign. 'Tis I, Quackenboss. I am--"

I announced my name and rank.

"Don't care for all that!" was the somewhat surly rejoinder; "can't pass
'ithout the countersign."

"Yer durned fool! it's yur captin," cried Rube, in a peevish tone.

"Maybe," replied the imperturbable sentry; "can't let him pass 'ithout
countersign."

I now saw that we were in a real dilemma.

"Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieutenants," I
suggested, thinking that that might be the shortest way to get over the
difficulty.

"Hain't got nobody to send," came the gruff voice of Quackenboss from
out the darkness.

"I'll go!" promptly answered Garey--the big trapper thinking, in his
innocence, there could be no reason why _he_ should not carry the
message to quarters--and as he spoke, he made a step or two forward in
the direction of the sentinel.

"Halt there!" thundered the voice of Quackenboss; "halt! another step,
and I'll plug you with a bullet."

"What's thet? plug, he sez?" screamed Rube, leaping to the front.
"Geezus Geehosophat! yu'll plug 'im, eh? Yur durned mulehead, if 'ee
shoot this way, it 'll be the last time yu'll ever lay claw to a
trigger. Now then!" and Rube stood with his rifle half raised to the
level, and threatening to raise it still higher.

At that moment, the lightning gleamed; I saw the sentry with _his_ piece
also at a level.

I well knew the accuracy of his aim; I trembled for the result.

In my loudest voice I called out--

"Hold, Quackenboss! hold your fire! we