host rose quickly, and went out. The figure of a horseman had halted
in the road, but after a few moments' conversation with the farmer they
both moved towards the house and disappeared. When the farmer returned,
it was to say that "one of them 'Frisco dandies, who didn't keer
about stoppin' at the hotel in the settlement," had halted to give his
"critter" a feed and drink that he might continue his journey. He had
asked him to come in while the horse was feeding, but the stranger had
"guessed he'd stretch his legs outside and smoke his cigar;" he might
have thought the company "not fine enough for him," but he was "civil
spoken enough, and had an all-fired smart hoss, and seemed to know how
to run him." To the anxious inquiries of his wife and daughter he added
that the stranger didn't seem like a spy or a Mexican; was "as young
as HIM," pointing to the moody Red Jim, "and a darned sight more
peaceful-like in style."

Perhaps owing to the criticism of the farmer, perhaps from some still
lurking suspicion of being overheard by eavesdroppers, or possibly from
a humane desire to relieve the strained apprehension of the women, Red
Jim, as the farmer disappeared to rejoin the stranger, again dropped
into a lighter and gentler vein of reminiscence. He told them how, when
a mere boy, he had been lost from an emigrant train in company with a
little girl some years his junior. How, when they found themselves alone
on the desolate plain, with the vanished train beyond their reach, he
endeavored to keep the child from a knowledge of the real danger of
their position, and to soothe and comfort her. How he carried her on
his back, until, exhausted, he sank in a heap of sage-brush. How he was
surrounded by Indians, who, however, never suspected his hiding-place;
and how he remained motionless and breathless with the sleeping child
for three hours, until they departed. How, at the last moment, he had
perceived a train in the distance, and had staggered with her thither,