“The bushes was all scorched and curly and the cedar was like fire had been put to it.  The big, brown rocks was covered with black smoke, and the little drink in the bottom of the canyon was dried up.  I was now most under the old twin peaks of ’Wa-te-yah’[70]; the cold snow on top looking mighty cool and refreshing.

“Something was wrong; I must be shoving backwards, I thought, and that before long, or I’d go under, so I jerked the rein, but I’ll be dog-goned, and it’s true as there’s meat running, Blue kept going forward.  I laid back and cussed and kicked till I saw blood, certain.  Then I put out my hand for my knife to kill the beast, but the ’Green River’[71] wouldn’t come.  I tell you some unvisible spirit had a paw there, and it’s me that says it, ‘bad medicine’ it was, that trapping time.

“Loosing my pistol, the one I traded at Big Horn, the time I lost my Ute squaw, and priming my rifle, I swore to keep right on; for after staying ten years in these mountains, to be fooled this way wasn’t the game for me nohow.

“Well, we, I say, ‘we,’ for Blue was some—­as good as a man any day; I could talk to her, and she’d turn her head as if she understood me.  Mules are knowing critters—­next to human.  At a sharp corner Blue snorted, and turned her head, but couldn’t go back.  There, in front, was a level canyon with walls of black and brown and gray stone, and stumps of burned pinyon hung down ready to fall onto us; and, as we passed, the rocks and trees shook and grated and croaked.  All at once Blue tucked her tail, backed her ears, bowed her neck, and squealed right out, a-rearing on her hind legs, a-pawing, and snickering.  This hoss didn’t see the cute of them notions; he was for examining, so I goes to jump off and lam the fool; but I was stuck tight as if there was tar on the saddle.  I took my gun, that there iron, my rifle, and pops Blue over the head, but she squealed and dodged, all the time pawing; but it wasn’t no use, and I says, ’you didn’t cost more than two blankets when you was traded from the Utes, and two blankets ain’t worth more than two beaver-skins at Bent’s Fort, which comes to two dollars a pair, you consarned ugly pictur—­darn you, anyhow!’ Just then I heard a laughing.  I looks up, and two black critters—­they wasn’t human, sure, for they had black tails and red coats—­Indian cloth, cloth like that traded to the Indians, edged with white, shiny stuff, and brass buttons.

“They come forward and made two low bows.  I felt for my scalp-knife, for I thought they was approaching to take me, but I couldn’t use it —­they was so darned polite.

“One of the devils said, with a grin and bow, ‘Good-morning, Mr. Hatcher!’

“‘H——!’ says I, ’how do you know me?  I swear this hoss never saw you before.’

“‘Oh, we’ve expected you a long time,’ said the other, ’and we are quite happy to see you—­we’ve known you ever since your arrival in the mountains.’