years, and I carry a few remembrances of his love, that I expect to
keep on carrying to my grave."

As he spoke, he laid his finger upon a cicatrized wound upon his
cheek, a frightful scar several inches in length, and evidently made
by a tomahawk. It ran from the temple to the base of the nose, and
was scarcely concealed by the luxuriant grizzled beard that grew
almost to his eyes.

"That's only one," said Sut. "Here's another that mebbe you can see."

This time he removed his coon-skin hunting-cap and bending his head
down, he parted the hair with his long, horny fingers, so that all saw
very distinctly the scar of a wound that must have endangered the life
of the recipient.

"I've got half a dozen other scars strung here and there about my
body, the most of which was made by that lonely Apache chief that is
called Lone Wolf; so I reckon you'll conclude that he and me have some
acquaintance. Oh! we was as lovin' as a couple of brothers!"

Mickey O'Rooney lifted his cap, and scratched his red head in a
puzzled way, as if he were debating some weighty matter. Suddenly
looking up, he asked:

"Was this Mr. Wolf born in these parts?"

"I can't say, precisely, where he first seed the light, but it must
have been somewhere round about this part of the world. Why did you
ax?"