so good as repeat "a bit of Scripture." He
had not been much of a chapel-goer, but Ruth
had "got religion," and his mother, too, had
been "a Christian woman," as he quaintly
observed. I knelt beside him and held up his head
as I uttered aloud the words of a brief and
simple prayer, such as little children are taught
to lisp with their innocent lips; and once or
twice I heard the husky tones of the dying man
repeat the words. But there was a strong shiver
through his frame, and poor Shem Grindrod was
dead before the prayer was prayed out.

About an hour later, I rode up to the station,
mounted on my own horse, and leading Shem's
by the bridle.

"Halloa! pull up, pull up, or I'll plug ye,
sure as my name's Bradshaw!" shouted a stern
voice through a loophole of the lonely blockhouse.
And I saw the long clouded barrel of a
frontier rifle pointing in my direction. I halted,
of course.

"That's one of our hosses," cried a second
voice; " the critter's stole it, I reckon. What
is he?"

"I am a friend," I called out; "a traveller
from California. Let me come in, and I will
explain all."

The garrison held a short but animated
debate. One man avowed his belief in the truth
of my story, another broadly hinted that I
might turn out a "renegade" or "white
Indian," that I merely wanted to open the doors
of the fortress to my ferocious allies, ambushed
somewhere hard by, and that it would be as
well to shoot me, as a provisional act of
prudence. But the majority carries the day in
America; and, luckily for me, the majority
decreed my admission. Loud was the surprise,
and sincere the sorrow, with which the little
garrison received the news of their comrade's
murder. Three of the men caught up such rude
tools as they possessed, and, slinging their rifles,
prepared to take the "back trail" to the spot
where the unfortunate young man's body lay,
and where his remains would be hastily laid in
earth, after the custom of the frontiers.
Another hurried, with all the instinct of discipline,
to saddle a horse for the purpose of carrying
forward the mail-bag which poor Shem had resigned
only with his life. This rider was the most
affected of the group, by the melancholy tidings
I had brought. He would have preferred to be
one of those who were to lay his old associate
beneath the prairie turf, but this could not be.
He was "next for duty," he said, simply, with
tears standing in his hardy eyes. So, he hurried
to equip himself and steed for the perilous road.
I now ventured, rather timidly and awkwardly,
to prefer my request for the accommodation of
fresh relays of horses along the rest of the route,
speaking as modestly as I could of my own
preservation of the despatches. The men looked
puzzled as they scrutinised me and weighed my
demand. One of them, he who had taken me
for a renegade white in the Indian interest, gave
me a piercing glance, and gruffly said, "How do
we know he ain't been bamfoozling us with a
pack of lies? He may have murdered Shem,
ye see, jest to get a remount, and—"

"You jest shut up!" thundered, in tones of
deep indignation, the rider who was to carry on
the mails. "You oughter to be ashamed of that
tongue o' yourn, Jethro Summers. Here's a
gentleman, and what's more, an honest chap,
has fit by poor Shem's side, has saved his scalp
from them Shoshonies, and brought on the bag
for us, and you're to insult him with your mean
talk. See! his hoss is fresh, and he's brought
in Shem's hoss; and you to go telling him he'd
murder a white Christian to get a lift. It's a
burnin' shame, Jeth Summers!"

"'Tis, 'tis!" exclaimed the other two men.

"Did ye ever know a darned renegade look a
chap in the face, bold and honest, like the
colonel, there? He's a good chap, is mister;
and if ever he wants a friend in a rough-and-
tumble fight, we're his men, sure as minks can
swim."

The trio shook hands with me with genuine
warmth. Now, when the iron was hot, was
the time to strike. I therefore made an
energetic appeal to them to supply me with
horses, assuring them that my whole prospects
and happiness, as well as those of others,
depended on my speed. They listened with
interest; but when I concluded with the words,
"Shem Grindrod wished it; he bade me ask it
of you, as he lay dying," the game was won.
To be sure, the one ill-conditioned member of
the community grumbled out something about
"soft sawder, breach of rules, cunning Yankees,
and dismissal." But the tall rider cut, him
short, by affirming with an oath, that "if the
Co. chose to ride nasty on such a point, after
the stranger's services, why the Co. was a mean
scamp, and he wouldn't serve 'em, for one."
I did not at first exactly comprehend this
frequently-recurring phrase of the "Co.," and was
disposed to regard it as the name of some over-
looker, or superintendent, but afterwards
discovered that this monosyllabic impersonation
meant the Express Company.

"Look sharp, mister. You shall have a
mount, but there's time lost a'ready, and we
shall have to ride whip and spur. Come and
pick a nag out of the corral. There's a brindled
mustang your saddle will fit like his skin. The
roan's best, but his back's rubbed raw. Ask Jonas
to give you some beef and biscuit: we shan't
pass many hot-els, that air positive. Charge
that revolver o' yourn, colonel; I see two
bullets a-missing. Have a horn of whisky—old
Monongahela? No! Do be spry with the
saddle, you Jeth—a man should help in a case
like this. Easy, mister, with the bridle—the
mustang bites—so! We'll take care of your
nag, and you'll find him as sleek as a slug, if
you come back our way. Good-by, boys!"

So saying, the impatient rider finished his
preparations, sprang to his saddle, waved his
repeating carbine over his head, and set off
at furious speed. I followed as rapidly as I
could, shouting a farewell to those left behind,
who were on the point of starting for the place