FRANK’S sudden appearance created considerable of a commotion in the camp, for the men sprang to their feet and reached rather hurriedly for their weapons. They were evidently alarmed; and Frank was a good deal surprised thereat, for he had not dreamed that men accustomed to the dangers of the prairie—as these undoubtedly were—could be frightened at the sudden approach of a single bewildered horseman. He, however, rode straight up to the fire, where the men stood with their rifles in their hands, and exclaimed, as he dismounted from his horse:

“Good evening, gentlemen!”

His politeness did not serve to allay the fears of the men, for they regarded him sharply for a moment, and then one of them asked, in a voice that somewhat resembled the growl of an enraged bear:

“What do you want?”

“I am lost,” replied Frank. “My horse was stampeded with a herd of buffaloes, and I am now making the best of my way back to my friends.”

The man slowly surveyed him from head to foot, and then answered, in a tone of voice which showed that he did not believe Frank’s statement:

“Lost! Lost, aint ye? Wal, what in tarnation are ye lost fur? Why don’t ye go whar ye b’long?”

“That’s what I want to do!” replied Frank, who, astonished at the manner in which he was received, and fearful that he would be compelled to pass another night alone on the prairie, did not notice the sly, meaning glances which the men exchanged. “I am trying to find my friends. I left them at the ‘old bear’s hole,’ if you know where that is.”

This statement was received with something like a long breath of relief by the trappers—for such they undoubtedly were—and the spokesman continued:

“Then, ye’re sartin ye’re lost, an’ that ye aint got no friends nigher nor the ole bar’s hole? Who war ye travelin’ with? Who’s yer comp’ny?”

“Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly,” replied Frank, mentioning the names of the guides, with the hope that some of his new acquaintances might know them; nor was the hope a vain one, for the trappers repeated the names, and again exchanged those sly glances, which Frank noticed but could not understand:

“So ole Bob is yer comp’ny,” said his questioner, at length; “an’ ye’re sartin ye left him at the ole bar’s hole! Then, ye won’t be likely to set eyes on him to-night, ’cause the bar’s hole ar’ a good fifty mile from here, an’, if ye’re actooally an’ sartinly lost, ye aint no ways likely to find it in the dark.”

The trapper was evidently forgetting his fears and recovering his good nature—if he possessed that quality—for, as he resumed his seat at the fire, he continued, in a somewhat milder tone:

“If yer hoss war stampeded, stranger, he must be powerful lively on his legs to have tuk ye so fur; but, I reckon, ye must be travelin’ a leetle out of yer latitude. It aint often that a feller meets a teetotal stranger in these parts what says he’s lost, an’ we don’t like to take in every one as comes along; but, if so be that ye are a friend of Dick an’ ole Bob, ye can hobble yer hoss an’ camp here with us. Ye can sleep by our fire to-night, an’ in the mornin’ we’ll set yer on the right track.”

Frank gladly complied with this invitation, and, after relieving his horse of the saddle, he seated himself at the fire, and began to make a close examination of his new acquaintances. They were all large, muscular men, and were dressed in complete suits of buckskin, which were very ragged and dirty. Their faces were almost covered with thick, bushy whiskers, and their hair, which, judging by its tangled appearance, had never been made acquainted with a comb, hung down to their shoulders. The man who had acted the part of spokesman, was particularly noticeable, being more ragged and dirty than his companions, and his face, which bore several ugly scars, was almost as black as a negro’s.

In short, they were a very ferocious looking set, and Frank almost wished he had remained on the prairie instead of coming to their camp. But, after all, he might be very much mistaken in his men. It was not to be expected that persons of their calling, who had no doubt lived on the prairie from boyhood, who had been exposed to all kinds of weather, and braved innumerable dangers, it could not be expected that such men should always present a neat appearance. Beneath their rough exterior there might be hidden the warmest of hearts. And as for their reception of him, they had doubtless treated him as they treated every stranger they met on the prairie—on the principle, “Believe every man an enemy, until he proves himself otherwise.”

While these thoughts were passing through Frank’s mind, the trappers had been regarding him closely and with evident curiosity.

The result of their examination appeared to be satisfactory, for the spokesman presently remarked:

“It’s plain, stranger, that yer out of yer callin’. Ye don’t b’long on the prairy. Yer from the States, we take it.”

Frank replied that he was, and then proceeded to give the trappers an account of the circumstances that had brought him to the prairie, and also told how he had made the acquaintance of Dick and old Bob; to all of which the men listened eagerly, now and then exchanging the same sly glances that Frank had before noticed. When he had finished his story, the swarthy trapper arose to his feet, and, going to a tree close by, took down a piece of buffalo meat, from which he cut several slices that he placed on the coals, remarking as he did so:

“Whenever we do meet a stranger in these parts, an’ he turns out to be the right kind of a chap, we allers treat him as handsome as we know how. We can’t offer you anything more’n a chunk of buffaler hump, but sich as we have yer welcome to.”

The offer was evidently made in all sincerity, and if Frank still entertained any fears that the men were not what they should be, he speedily dismissed them, and again blessed his lucky stars that he was not compelled to pass another night alone on the prairie.

While his supper was cooking, he was again plied with questions, the most of them relating to the movements of old Bob; and especially did the trappers seem anxious to learn where he was going, and what he intended to do when he returned from California. Frank answered these questions as well as he could, and his replies seemed to satisfy the men, one of whom finally changed the subject of the conversation, by remarking:

“I’ll allow that’s a fine shootin’ iron of your’n, stranger, but it’s a new-fangled consarn, I should say.”

Frank, it will be remembered, had Archie’s rifle, which, being a breech-loading weapon, was something the trappers had never seen before, and it required considerable explanation to enable them to understand “how the consarn worked.”

From his rifle they went to the other articles of his “kit.” The contents of his haversack were examined, the qualities of his hunting-knife and revolvers discussed, and then they turned their attention to his horse—made inquiries concerning his speed and bottom, until, weary with their questioning, they stretched themselves out by the fire and went to sleep.

After eating his supper, Frank followed their example; and, being completely exhausted, having scarcely closed his eyes during the preceding night, he slept soundly until morning.

When he awoke it was just daylight. The trappers had already arisen; the fire had been replenished, and several slices of meat were broiling on the coals.

They hardly noticed Frank; the only reply his polite greetings received, being a sort of grunt and a slight nod of the head. After washing his hands and face in the creek that ran close by—a proceeding which the trappers regarded with undisguised contempt—he seated himself at the fire with the others and began helping himself to the meat, at the same time inquiring the way to the old bear’s hole.

“That ar’ is the way, stranger,” replied the swarthy trapper, pointing in a direction exactly contrary to the one Frank had pursued the day before; “an’, as I told ye last night, it’s nigh on to fifty miles off.”

After this, they again relapsed into silence, and as soon as they had finished their breakfast, went out to catch their horses. Frank accompanied them; all his old fears that there was something wrong, revived with redoubled force, and he was anxious to leave the company of his new acquaintances as soon as possible. When he had caught and saddled Pete, he left him standing for a few moments, until he secured his rifle and haversack, and when he turned to mount, he saw one of the trappers seize the horse by the bridle and spring into the saddle. Frank gazed in surprise at these movements, but before he could speak, the swarthy trapper turned suddenly upon him, exclaiming:

“Look a here, stranger! Ye come here last night without nobody’s askin’ ye, an’ tells us some kind of a story ’bout yer bein’ lost, an’ all that. Now, mebbe yer all right, an’ mebbe ye aint. Ye may have friends no great way off, that ye kalkerlate to bring down on us; but ye can’t ketch old foxes like us in no sich trap as that ar’. We’re jest goin’ to take yer hoss to keep yer from findin’ yer friends ag’in in a hurry. Yer young fur sich bisness as this yere, an’ if ye didn’t look so mighty innercent, I’d split yer wizzen fur ye. So now be off to onct, an’ don’t never cross our trail ag’in. If ye do—” The trapper finished the sentence by shaking his head threateningly.

Frank listened to this speech in utter bewilderment. He could scarcely believe his ears. But it was plain that the trappers were in earnest, for the one who had mounted Pete held his own horse by the bridle, in readiness to start. He fully realized his helpless situation, and it almost overpowered him. But, at length, he found courage to say:

“You are certainly mistaken. I am lost. I don’t know where to go to find my friends, and, if you take my horse from me, I may never find them again. Besides, what is your object in robbing me?”

“Wal, now, stranger,” said the trapper, dropping the butt of his rifle to the ground, and leaning upon the muzzle of the weapon, “we jest aint a goin’ to stand no foolin’. We b’lieve yer a spy, an’ ar’ goin’ to bring Bob Kelly an’ the rest of yer friends down on us. That’s jest what’s the matter. The prairy is cl’ar, thar aint no Injuns to massacree ye; ye have a good pair of legs, so trot off on ’em to onct. Ye can be glad enough that we didn’t tie ye up to a tree, an’ leave ye to the wolves. If ole Kelly could get his hands on us, we’d be used a heap wusser nor robbin’, an’ you know it well enough. An’ when ye see the ole chap, ye can tell him that the next time he wants to try to ketch Black Bill, he’ll have to get up a better trick nor this yere. Come, now, mizzle—sally out to onct—an’ don’t stop to talk, ’cause it won’t do no arthly good whatsomever. Yer hoss is gone—that’s settled—an’, if yer shootin’ iron were any ’count, we’d a tuk that too. We’ve left ye three loads, an’ that’ll kill game enough to do ye till ye find yer friends. Come, walk off—make yourself skeerce, sudden.”

There was a wicked, determined look in the trapper’s eye that told Frank that he was in earnest; and, fully convinced that it would be useless to remonstrate, and fearful that if he did not obey the order, the man would fulfill his threat of tying him to a tree, and leaving him to the mercy of the wolves, he shouldered his rifle, and, with a heavy heart, set off on his journey.

When he reached the top of a high swell, about half a mile from the camp, he looked back, and saw the trappers riding off at a rapid gallop, Pete playing and prancing with his new rider as if he was perfectly satisfied with the change. Frank watched them as long as they remained in sight, and then, throwing himself on the ground, covered his face with his hands, and gave away to the most bitter thoughts. What could have induced the trappers to act so treacherously? Did they really suspect him of being a spy, or was that merely an excuse to rob him in his defenseless situation? The whole transaction was involved in a mystery he could not fathom, nor was it at all probable that he could arrive at a solution until he should see Dick or old Bob Kelly. Would he ever see them again, was a question he dare not ask himself. The chances were certainly not in his favor, situated as he was, alone, in the midst of an unbroken wilderness, the prairie stretching away, on one hand, as far as his eye could reach, the Rocky Mountains looming up on the other. But he was not one to look altogether upon the dark side of the picture. It had a bright side as well, and he found that he had reason to congratulate himself that the outlaws—for such he now knew them to be—had let him off so easily. What if they had left him bound to a tree, as they had threatened? The chances were not one in a hundred that he would ever have been released. Although his horse had been taken from him, he had been allowed to go free, and to retain his rifle and hunting-knife. Yes, his situation might have been infinitely worse. He still had much to be grateful for, and, as long as he had life, he would cherish the hope of being able to find his way to his friends. As these thoughts passed through his mind, they brought renewed strength and determination, and, rising to his feet, he again set out at a brisk walk.

He remembered that the outlaws had told him that, in order to reach the old bear’s hole, he must travel in a direction exactly opposite to the one he was pursuing; but he had good reason to believe that they had endeavored to mislead him. When he took his involuntary ride, he was careful to remember the points of the compass, and, as Pete had carried him exactly south, of course, in order to reach his friends, he must travel north. He had no compass, but the sun was just rising, and he was able to calculate all the points from that. Having settled this to his satisfaction, he began an examination of his haversack, and found that its contents had been thoroughly overhauled—no doubt while he was asleep—and that the outlaws had left him three cartridges for his rifle, and his flint and steel. All the other articles, which consisted of several rounds of ammunition for his revolvers (which had gone off with his horse), stone arrow-heads, spear-heads, the claws of the bear that Dick had killed in the cave, and numerous other relics which Archie had collected since leaving St. Joseph, had all been abstracted.

In spite of his unpleasant situation, Frank could not repress a smile, when he thought how indignant his cousin would be, when he received an account of his losses. Having completed his examination, and placed his remaining cartridges carefully away in his pocket, he resumed his journey, and, just as he reached the top of a swell, he discovered a horseman galloping rapidly along the edge of the willows that fringed the base of the mountains. The thought that he saw something familiar, about both the horse and his rider, had scarcely passed through Frank’s mind, when he was electrified by the sight of a large brindle dog, which ran in and out of the bushes, with his nose close to the ground, now and then uttering an impatient bark, which was answered by yells of encouragement from the horseman. There was no mistaking that yell, and Frank ran down the swell, swinging his hat, and endeavoring to attract the attention of the man with a voice which, in his excitement, he could scarcely raise above a whisper. But he was discovered. Both dog and horseman turned toward him, and, a moment afterward, Frank had one arm around the neck of Useless, and his hand was inclosed in the trapper’s vice-like grasp.