ea was a good one.

"Je connais," he continued--"know I, pe gar! ze ver spot ou--vere--sont
cachees--hid les chandelles magnifiques--von, deux, tree big candle--
vax, vax--"

"Wax-candles?"

"Oui--oui, messieurs! tres grand comme un baton; ze ver chose pour
allumer la prairie."

"You know where they are? You could find them, Le Blanc?"

"Oui, messieurs--je connais: les chandelles sont cachees dans l'eglise--
zey are in ze church hid."

"Ha! in the church?"

"Oui, messieurs; c'est un grand sacrilege, mon Dieu! ver bad; mais
n'importe cela. Eef mon capitaine permit--vill allow pour aller
Monsieur Quack'bosh, he go chez moi; nous chercherons; ve bring ze
chandelles--pe gar ve bring him!"

From the mixed gibberish of the voyageur, I could gather his meaning
well enough. He knew of a depository of wax-candles, and the church of
the rancheria was the place in which they were kept.

I was not in a frame of mind to care much for the sacrilege, and my
companions were still less scrupulous. The act was determined upon, and
Le Blanc and Quackenboss, without more delay, took the back-track for
the village.

The rest of us dismounted; and, picketing our horses to the grass, lay
down to await the return of the messengers.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT.

While thus inactive, my mind yielded itself up to the contemplation of
painful probabilities. Horrid spectacles passed before my imagination.
I saw the white horse galloping over the plain, pursued by wolves, and
shadowed by black vultures. To escape these hungry pursuers, I saw him
dash into the thick chapparal, there to encounter the red panther or the
fierce prowling bear--there to encounter the sharp thorns of the
acacias, the barbed spines of the cactus, and the recurving claw-like
armature of the wild aloes. I could see the red blood streaming adown
his white flanks--not _his_ blood, but that of the helpless victim
stretched prostrate along his back. I could see the lacerated limbs--
the ankles chafed and swollen--the garments torn to shreds--the drooping
head--the long loose hair tossed and trailing to the earth--the white
wan lips--the woe-bespeaking eyes--Oh! I could bear my reflections no
longer. I sprang to my feet, and paced the prairie with the aimless,
unsteady step of a madman.

Again the kind-hearted trapper approached, and renewed his efforts to
console me.

"We could follow the trail," he said, "by torch or candle li