he old
trapper condescended to begin the conversation.

CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE.

THE TRAPPER'S COUNSEL.

"Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet 'ere
'campmint, an see ef thur ain't a road leadin inter the very heart o'
it, straight as the tail o' a skeeart fox. 'Ee see it? eh?"

"Not under kiver?" replied Garey interrogatively.

"Unner kiver--ivery step o' the way--the best o' kiver."

Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the
encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover by
which the camp could be approached. Surely there was none.

What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceived
some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?

I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Up
to the zenith, around the horizon--east, west, north, and south--I
looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated high
in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon's disk, cast
no perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settled
weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens,
were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper
talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under
cover of darkness. What then?

"Don't see ony kiver, old hoss," rejoined Garey, after a pause; "neyther
bush nor weed."

"Bush!" echoed Rube--"weed! who's talkin 'bout weeds an bushes? Thur's
other ways o' hidin' yur karkidge 'sides stickin' it in a bush or unner
a weed. Yur a gettin' durnation'd pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I gin to
think yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself. Yu've
been a humbuggin' wi' one o' them ur Mexikin moochachers."

"No, Rube, no."

"Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell one o'
'em--"

"What?"

"Wagh! ye know well enuf. Didn't 'ee tell one o' 'em gurls at the
rancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick--sartintly ye
did; them wur yur preezact words, Billee."

"I was only jokin', hoss."

"Putty jokin' thet ur 'll be when I gits back to Bent's Fort, and tell
yur Coco squaw. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Geehosophat! thur _will_ be a
rumpus bumpus!"

"Nonsense, Rube; thar's nothin' ov it."

"Thur must 'a be: yur brain-pan's out o' order, Bill; ye hain't hed a
clur idee for days back. Bushes! an weeds too! Wagh! who sayed th