His half-closed eyes slurred in a crafty, guileful manner from side to side as he drawled: "_Despues de Dios, mi rifle!"_ ("Next to God, my rifle!") After considerable looking about, I at last found an Indian willing to act as guide for the next stage of our journey.

He was an elderly man, and at dusk he was quietly sitting near the camp fire, eating his supper, when the tall figure of Mr.Hartman appeared on the scene, wrapped in a military overcoat.

He probably looked to the Indian very martial and threatening as he approached through the twilight.

At any rate, his appearance had a most unexpected effect on our guide.

I suddenly heard a noise behind me, and on looking around, I saw him running as fast as his legs would carry him, leaving his supper, dropping his blanket, splashing through the creek and disappearing in the night, never to be seen again by us.