46 IN THE OLD WEST 



(fanfaron). No; darn the settlements, I say. 

 It won't shine, and whar's the dollars? Hows'- 

 ever, beaver's bound to rise; human natur' can't 

 go on selling beaver a dollar a pound ; no, no, that 

 arn't a going to shine much longer, I know. 

 Them was the times when this child first went to 

 the mountains : six dollars the plew old 'un or 

 kitten! Wagh! but it's bound to rise, I says 

 agin; and hyar's a coon knows whar to lay his 

 hand on a dozen pack right handy, and then he'll 

 take the Taos trail, wagh ! " 



Thus soliloquizing, Killbuck knocked the ashes 

 from his pipe, and placed it in the gaily orna- 

 mented case that hung round his neck, drew his 

 knife-belt a couple of holes tighter, resumed his 

 pouch and powder-horn, took his rifle, which he 

 carefully covered with the folds of his Navajo 

 blanket, and, striding into the darkness, cautiously 

 reconnoitered the vicinity of the camp. When he 

 returned to the fire he sat himself down as before, 

 but this time with his rifle across his lap ; and at 

 intervals his keen gray eyes glanced piercingly 

 around, particularly towards an old weather- 

 beaten and grizzled mule, who now, old stager 

 as she was, having filled her belly, stood lazily 

 over her picket-pin, with her head bent down and 

 her long ears flapping over her face, her limbs 

 gathered under her, and her back arched to throw 

 off the rain, tottering from side to side as she 

 rested and slept. 



