“After I stopped laughin’, and was a-gittin’ down towards the water, I heerd a kind of noise from the other side of the creek, and looked up; and, the first thing I see, settin’ on the edge on t’other side, was a boy about twelve years old, tryin’ ter call to me.

“At first I couldn’t believe my own eyes; but I shut ’em up for a minute, and looked again, and there he was, as plain as day, and not another livin’ creeter but my old hoss in sight.

“Well, I was beat, an’no mistake.  Bless me!  I kin see the little feller jest as I seen him that morning,—­and a perfect little gentleman he was too.  Yes, and I’ve seen his pale, thin face and great starin’ brown eyes a-lookin’ into mine, a thousand times since that day.

“I went right over to where he was, and spoke ter him.  The little feller smiled when I came up, and shook his head, as much as to say, that he couldn’t speak.  I asked him where he came from, and where his folks was, and how they come ter leave him alone on the plains, with nobody to look out for and take care of him; but he only shook his head, and looked up into my face so piteous and sorrowful like, that I felt my heart go right out to him.  I couldn’t understand how the little feller got there; for his clothes were all new,—­the soles of his little boots warn’t even stained.

[Illustration:  A Mystery.]

“Well, I talked to him a long time afore I remembered I hadn’t had a drink myself; so I asked him if he wanted water, and he nodded his head.  I went down to the creek there, and filled my hat, and warn’t away more than three minutes; but, when I got back, he was gone.”—­“Where did he go to, Jerry?” asked Ned, who, unperceived, had been listening to the story.

“Go to,” echoed Jerry, “ther ain’t anybody kin tell that.  Why, I hunted every foot, for a mile around, and couldn’t find a sign of his trail; and I never have seen or heerd of him since.  Now, judge, I seen him, felt him, talked to him, and know he was there; and thar hain’t never been a doubt in my mind as to what become of him.”

“Well, Jerry, how do you account for his disappearance?” inquired I.

“Angels!” was the sententious reply.

“Pooh!” remarked the matter-of-fact Ned; “angels don’t wear clothes and boots.”

“How do you know?” inquired Jerry.

“Why, I never heard they did,” answered Ned.

“Did you ever hear they didn’t?” continued the old man.  “I never believed in ’em much afore then, and I sartin hain’t bed no reason to, on this trip, so far as I know.  Now, judge, you’re the first one I ever told that story to; and it’s true, every word of it.  What do yer reckon become of him, if ’twain’t angels?”

“I can’t say, Jerry,” was my reply.  “That is one of the secrets of the desert, which I cannot answer.”

“Well, I reckon I’ve talked, about as long as I ought to, at this time of night; but I’ve never come this way since then, without thinkin’ thet perhaps I might see him again.  I never shall, though, I reckon; and I s’pose I’d better give up all hopes of it, and may as well go to bed again.”