IN THE OLD WEST 327 



Bonte; pourquoi you ne 1'aimez pas? Maybe he 

 not go ondare. Maybe he turn op, autrefois. 

 De trappares, dey go ondare tree, four, ten times, 

 mais dey turn op twenty time. De sauvage not 

 able for kill La Bonte, ni de dam Espagnols. Ah, 

 non ! ne craignez pas ; be gar, he not gone ondare 

 encore." 



Spite of the good-natured attempts of the Cana- 

 dian, poor Mary burst into a flood of tears: not 

 that the information took her unawares, for she 

 long had believed her lover dead ; but because the 

 very mention of his name awoke the strongest feel- 

 ings within her breast, and taught her how deep 

 was the affection she had felt for him whose loss 

 and violent fate she now bewailed. 



As the wagons of the lone caravan roll on 

 towards the Platte, we return to the camp where 

 La Bonte, Killbuck, and the stranger, were sitting 

 before the fire when last we saw them. Killbuck 

 loquitur: 



" The doin's of them Mormon fools can't be 

 beat by Spaniards, stranger. Their mummums 

 and thummums you speak of won't shine whar In- 

 juns are about ; nor pint out a trail, whar nothin' 

 crossed but rattler-snakes since fust it snowed on 

 old Pike's Peak. If they pack along them 

 profits, as you tell of, who can make it rain hump- 

 ribs and marrow-guts when the crowd gets out of 

 the buffler range, they are some, now, that's a 

 fact. But this child don't believe it. I'd laugh 



