Unsatisfied hunger is always a serious discomfort. What it was to a young, healthy boy like Rupert, who had been working hard for several hours, may be imagined.

Even if there had been a prospect of his dining in two or three hours, it would have been inconvenient, but he could have endured it. As it was, he did not know when he could satisfy his appetite, if at all.

He discovered in his pockets some silver change which Ben hadn't taken, but that could do him no good in the Colorado wilderness.

Rupert was in general sanguine and light-hearted. But it must be owned that he felt terribly depressed about this time. He had his gun with him, but even if he should succeed in shooting anything, how could he cook it? He had not even a match with which to light a fire.

Was he destined to starve in this out of the way region? he asked himself. A hundred miles off he had a rich friend. In New York he owned two valuable lots and had money in the bank besides, but neither of these could do him any good now.

The French speak of an uncomfortable quarter of an hour. Rupert had two hours at least that could be described in this way. All this while, faint as he was and tired as his exertions on an empty stomach had made him, he still paddled on. At last, to his great joy, there came light in the darkness. As the raft turned a corner in the windings of the river he saw on the bank, curiously regarding him, a tall, thin, dark-complexioned girl, in a calico dress too short for her.

A new hope was born in Rupert's heart? and he stopped paddling.

"Do you live around here?" he asked.

"Yes," answered the girl.

"Could I buy some food at your house?"

"Don't know. I reckon so."

"Then I'll stop, and you can show me the way to your house."

"Where did you come from?"

"From below—about ten miles down the river."

"Is that where you live?"

"No. I live in New York."

"Where is that? Is it in Colorado?"

"Didn't you ever hear of New York?" asked Rupert, in genuine surprise at the ignorance of his new acquaintance.

"No."

"It's a large city."

The girl seemed to take very little interest in the information he gave her.

"Did you always live here?" asked Rupert, becoming himself the questioner.

"Reckon so."

By this time Rupert had brought the raft to shore and tied it to a stump. He obtained a nearer view of the girl, but did not find her attractive.

She was tall, thin, and had a sallow complexion. Her dress hung straight down. Moreover, it was not clean. The girl eyed him attentively, and didn't seem in the least bashful. She seemed to arrive at a decision in regard to him.

"Say, you're good-lookin'," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Do you think so?" returned Rupert, blushing.

"Yes. How old be you?"

"Seventeen."

"I'm fourteen. If you lived round here I'd take you for my beau."

"But I don't live round here," said Rupert, with an air of relief. "What is your name?" he asked, with a sudden thought.

"Sal. That's what mam calls me. What's yours?"

"Rupert."

"That's a mighty cur'us name. Never heard it afore."

"I don't think it is a common name."

"You jest come along, if you want some dinner. You said you'd pay for it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess mam will give you some."

"Do you live far off?" asked Rupert, anxiously.

"No. Jest in the woods a little way."

Rupert followed the girl for about a quarter of a mile. Then, in a little clearing, he saw a rude cabin—just such a house as he fancied Sal would live in.

"That's our house, and there's mam at the door," said his young guide.

A tall, thin woman, between whom and Sal there was considerable resemblance, not only in appearance but in dress, stood in the doorway, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked down the path.

"She's lookin' for me," explained Sal, with a grin.

"Here you, Sal!" called her mother. "Where've you been gallivantin' to?"

Then she stopped short, for she caught sight of Rupert.

"Who've you got with you?" she asked, abruptly.

"A boy," answered Sal. "Ain't he nice lookin'?"

Rupert blushed again, as most of my boy readers would probably have done under like circumstances.

"No matter how he looks," said the mother, sharply. "What does he want here?"

"He wants somethin' to eat, and he's got money to pay for it," answered Sal.

"I am very hungry, madam," said Rupert, taking off his hat. "I shall consider it a great favor if you will give me some dinner."

"I reckon I kin scare up something," said the woman, more amiably. "Jest come in."

Rupert entered the cabin. It was rudely and scantily furnished, but doubtless the occupants enjoyed it as much as a New York millionaire enjoys his elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue. There was a fire in the cooking-stove, and in a pantry Rupert noticed some cold remnants of the noonday meal.

"Sit down," said the woman. "I'll scare you up something in a jiffy."

"I'll sit down outside, if you don't mind," answered Rupert.

He sat down on a settee on one side of the door. Soon the odor of some meat which was being fried assailed his nostrils, and gave him the keenest delight.

In about twenty minutes Sal called him in, and he was glad to accept her rather unceremonious invitation.

On the table was a dish of meat. He didn't know what kind it was, but it smelled good. On another plate was some corn bread, but no butter was provided.

"We ain't got no whiskey," said the woman. "We're sort o' run out, but I can give you some tea."

"That will do just as well, madam."

Rupert might have said that it would do better, but he saw that the family were not prohibitionists and might take offense if he spoke against the use of whiskey.

Rupert had seldom enjoyed a meal more than the one he sat down to in that rude cabin.

"What kind of meat is this?" he asked.

"Bear meat. Didn't you ever eat any?"

"No, madam."

"We reckon it's good. My man killed the bear."

"It is excellent," said Rupert, and he really meant what he said.

"I'm glad you like it."

Rupert ate till he was ashamed. He had not asked the price of the meal in advance, for he was fully resolved to eat it, even if it took every cent he had left to pay for it. But when at last he laid down his knife and fork he summoned courage to ask how much he must pay.

"I reckon a quarter'll do," said the woman.

Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. It not only came within his means, but he would have fifty cents left after paying.

Then the woman began to ask questions.

"Where mought you be goin'?" she asked.

Rupert mentioned his destination.

"How far away is that?"

"Nearly a hundred miles."

"Are you travelin' alone?"

"I had a man with me till this morning."

"Where is he now?"

"He got up early, robbed me of all my money and ran off, taking the boat with him," Rupert answered in indignant tones.

"If he took all your money, how are you goin' to pay for your dinner?" asked the woman, frowning.

"I have a little money left in silver," said Rupert, producing the quarter.

"How are you goin' to get back?"

"I don't know. I have no money, and only a raft."

Then an idea came to him.

"If I could find a man who would go back with me, I would pay him well."

"But you have no money."

"Mr. Packard, of Red Gulch, is my friend. He is a rich man and he would pay for me."

"Do you mean Giles Packard?"

"Yes."

"I know about him. He is rich. Is he your friend?"

"Yes."

Rupert followed up his advantage.

"If I could find a man who would take me to him I would promise him fifty dollars—and this gun."

The woman's eyes showed her interest. She was fond of money, and fifty dollars seemed to her a large sum.

"I reckon my man would go along with you," she said slowly. "The fifty dollars would be sure?"

"Yes, and if I was satisfied with him, I would give him ten dollars more."

"Mam," said Sal, "you'd better say yes. We'll all be rich if dad gets sixty dollars."

"When will your husband be home?" asked Rupert, becoming hopeful.

"I reckon he'll be home directly—if you kin wait."

"Oh, yes, I can wait. Has he got a boat?"

"He has a canoe."

"That will do just as well."

"And will you give me the raft?" asked Sal. "You won't want it."

"Yes, you shall have the raft."

Sal was so delighted that she threw her arms round Rupert's neck and kissed him, much to his confusion.

"Quit that, you Sal. Ain't you got no manners?" said her mother, sharply. "There's your dad comin' now."

Rupert raised his flushed face, and was indescribably astonished when a tall Indian entered the cabin.