as the harbinger of keen apprehension; for not
only had it interrupted our search, but should the heavy rain continue
only for a few hours, we might be able neither to find or further to
follow the trail. It would be _blinded_--obliterated--lost.

Can you wonder that in my heart I execrated those black clouds, and that
driving deluge?--that with my lips I cursed the sky and the storm, the
moon and the stars, the red lightning and the rolling thunder?

My anathema ended, I stood in sullen silence, leaning against the body
of my brave horse--whose sides shivered under the chilly rain, though I
felt not its chill.

Absorbed in gloomy thought, I recked not what was passing around me;
and, for an unnoted period, I remained in this speechless abstraction.

My reverie was broken. Some expressions that reached my ear told me
that at least two of my followers had not yet yielded to weariness or
despair. Two of them were in conversation; and I easily recognised the
voices of the trappers.

Tireless, used to stern struggles--to constant warfare with the
elements--with nature herself--these true men never thought of giving
up, until the last effort of human ingenuity had failed. From their
conversation, I gathered that they had not yet lost hope of finding the
trail, but were meditating on some plan for recovering and following it.

With renewed eagerness I faced towards them and listened. Both talked
in a low voice. Garey was speaking, as I turned to them.

"I guess you're right, Rube. The hoss must a gone thar, an if so, we're
boun' to fetch his tracks. Thar's mud, if I remember right, all roun'
the pool. We can carry the cannel under Dutch's sombrera."

"Ye-es," drawled Rube in reply; "an ef this niggur don't miskalk'late,
we ain't a gwine to need eyther cannel or sombrairay. Lookee yander!"--
the speaker pointed to a break in the clouds--"I'll stake high, I kin
mizyure this hyur shower wi' the tail o' a goat. Wagh! we'll hev the
moon agin, clur as iver in the inside o' ten minnits--see ef we haint."

"So much the better, old hoss; but hadn't we best first try for the
tracks; time's precious, Rube--"

"In coorse it ur; git the cannel an the sombrairay, an le's be off then.
The rest o' these fellurs hed better stay hyur, an snore it out; thu'll
only bamfoozle us."

"Lige!" called out Garey, addressing himself to Quackenboss--"Lige! gi'
us yur hat a bit."

A loud snore was the only reply. The ranger, seate