“Simply for the reason that I am William Relmond.” Nathan Todd started as if struck by a thunderbolt. His eyes and mouth opened, his rifle fell unheeded to his feet, and he stared all agape at me. His face was such an embodiment of wonder, doubt, then certainty and pleasure, that I gave way completely to my feelings, and, seating myself upon the ground rolled over and laughed one of those laughs which rack our whole being, and make us as weak as an infant. When I again resumed my feet, my old friend approached and extended his hand. “What you laughing at? I knowed it was you all the time.” It is hardly worth time to dwell upon the words which passed between Nat and myself after my identity became known to him. Of course he was half frantic with joy in turn, and overwhelmed me with questions and explanations, and in the course of half an hour we both came to a full understanding. I had acquainted Nat with my separation from Imogene, and that she was waiting for me at “Death Rock.” He knew the place well and without losing time we hastened forward. He had become acquainted with Imogene, and had often conversed with her about her lost sister, and of me, little dreaming that she had ever seen me. Nat proved his knowledge of the country, for his course toward the Death Rock was direct, and, ere we had traveled many miles it loomed up to view. It seemed a long while to reach it, but before dark we were both conversing with Imogene. The night was spent within the cave, Nat and I conversing around the fire, while Imogene, wrapped in our blankets, slumbered unconsciously beside it. Nat succeeded in catching several fine trout from a small mountain-stream, and when we resumed our journey, I hardly think three more hopeful people could have been found in the universe. Our progress was less rapid than usual, as we feared for Imogene, although her life had been such as to make her the very embodiment of health and activity. At night we reached a bend of the Yellowstone, and camped upon its banks. A fire was again kindled, and while Nat kept watch, I concluded to take a little rest. He allowed me to sleep heavily until morning, when I was aroused by one of the most terrific, unearthly shrieks that ever greeted mortal ear. “God of heaven! what does that mean?” I exclaimed, springing to my feet. “Sounds like the ‘Snorter,’ the engine that I heard on the Boston road,” answered Nat, rubbing his eyes, and listening. “Hush!” I admonished, as again that hideous scream burst upon us. “Wonder if the Pacific Railroad’s built yet?” remarked Nat, with the utmost _nonchalance_; “or, maybe, some of their engines have run away from them.”