CHAPTER III. 

 A COMRADE AND FRESH SPORTS. 



ON A bright day in July> I was sitting near the foot of 

 the Pass mentioned at the commencement of this narra- 

 tive, when an unexpected sight greeted my eyes. Com- 

 ing leisurely along at the foot of the mountains were 

 three mules, two of which were laden with packs, while 

 upon the other rode a hunter, who, on a near approach, I 

 recognised to be an old acquaintance of my father's, called 

 Joe Blaney. He did not immediately recognise me ; but 

 with his rifle thrown over his arm, ready for emergency, 

 he rode up. 



"Wagh, no!" he exclaimed. "Young Peregrine, or 

 I an't Joe Blaney, now," and he quickly dismounted and 

 gave me his hand. After the customary salutations of 

 the rough and ready hunters, I inquired. 



"Where from, Joe?" 



" New Mexican country^ Santa Fe, and there abouts ; 

 been up the Yellow Stone. Blackfeet thicker than beaver 

 (24) 



