“My breeches was all-fired stiff with the heat in the canyon, and my friend, seeing it, said, ’Your breeches are tight; allow me to place my hand on them.’

“He rubbed his fingers up and down once, and by beaver, they got as soft as when I traded them from the Pi-Utes on the Gila.

“I now felt as brave as a buffalo in the spring.  The old man was so clever, and I walked alongside of him like an old acquaintance.  We soon stopped before a stone door, and it opened without touching.

“‘Here’s damp powder, and no fire to dry it,’ shouts I, stopping.

“’What’s the matter; do you not wish to perambulate through my possessions?’

“’This hoss doesn’t savey what the human for perambulate is, but I’ll walk plum to the hottest fire in your settlement, if that’s all you mean.’

“The place was hot, and smelt of brimstone; but the darned screeching took me.  I walks up to the other end of the lodge, and steal my mule, if there wasn’t Jake Beloo, as trapped with me to Brown’s Hole!  A lot of hell-cats was a-pulling at his ears, and a-jumping on his shoulders, and swinging themselves to the ground by his long hair.  Some was running hot irons into him, but when we came up they went off in a corner, laughing and talking like wildcats’ gibberish on a cold night.

“Poor Jake! he came to the bar, looking like a sick buffalo in the eye.  The bones stuck through his skin, and his hair was matted and long, all over, just like a blind bull, and white blisters spotted him.  ‘Hatch, old fellow! you here too?—­how are you?’ says he, in a faint-like voice, staggering and catching on to the bar for support—­ ‘I’m sorry to see you here; what did you do?’ He raised his eyes to the old man standing behind me, who gave him such a look, he went howling and foaming at the mouth to the fur end of the den and fell down, rolling over the damp stones.  The devils, who was chuckling by a furnace where was irons a-heating, approached easy, and run one into his back.  I jumped at them and hollered, ’You owdacious little hell-pups, let him alone; if my scalp-taker was here, I’d make buzzard feed of your meat, and parfleche of your dog-skins,’ but they squeaked out, to ‘go to the devil.’

“‘Waugh!’ says I, ‘if I ain’t pretty close to his lodge, I’m a nigger!’

“The old gentleman speaks up, ‘Take care of yourself, Mr. Hatcher,’ in a mighty soft kind voice, and he smiled so calm and devilish—­it nigh froze me.  I thought if the ground would open with an earthquake, and take me in, I’d be much obliged anyhow.  Thinks I, ’You saint-for-saken, infernal hell-chief, how I’d like to stick my knife in your withered old bread-basket.’

“‘Ah! my dear fellow, no use trying—­that’s a decided impossibility.’  I jumped ten feet.  I swear a medicine-man couldn’t a-heard me, for my lips didn’t move, and how he knew is more than this hoss can tell.

“‘I see your nervous equilibrium is destroyed; come with me.’