In a few seconds after, I heard the tramp of the horse which had borne me, as well as that upon which I had placed Clo-ke-ta, ringing upon the plain behind me. Par-a-wau had breathed a few words to his daughter, as she passed from my hearing, in their own tongue. It almost seemed to me, as though a portion of my life had been torn from me. Treading rapidly along the plain, I was buried in the mingled gloom of the present and the past. Yes! This was the end. My hand had widowed the woman, for whom I had once been so sorely tempted to forswear civilization. In spite of the excitement of the last few hours, my thoughts were for the moment with the past, when they were suddenly brought back by a voice, whose tones I had recently become more than well acquainted with. They were characterized by a somewhat coarse and insolent surprise. "Wall! I swar, if this don't beat all. It's Buckskin Mose." This exclamation was followed by the heartier and more energetic utterance of Brighton Bill. "Hi'm blamed, Cap, hif you weren't lucky; we 'adn't no more powder." "Whar's yer horse?" "May Hi be blamed hif h'it hain't nabbed by them thieving Hingins. Nare' a matter, Mose; 'ang me hif Hi don't get h'it back for you." Bill's horse was already plunging by me, when my grasp was on its bridle. "You won't, Bill!" "What d' you mean?" "What I say!" Jennings, the man who had been with Bill when the two had caught sight of me, was already some ten yards from the place where I was standing. "Come back!" Glancing over his shoulder at me, he saw me drawing a bead upon him. Not knowing I also was out of powder as well as himself, he thought it best to pull in and return, swearing at what he considered my stupidity. The opinion of Brighton Bill was, however, of greater importance in my estimation. This, the more especially, when I found out he evidently had settled my conduct as an undoubted example of temporary insanity. At any rate, I saw him, when he fancied my glance was turned away, looking at Jennings, and touching his forehead in a very significant manner. "What are you thinking of, Bill?" I asked him, suddenly. "Nothing, Cap! Hi'll be blamed hif Hi am. H'only hit's queer." And so, I can scarcely doubt, it seemed to him. Returning to the camp on foot, I neither explained in what way I had lost my horse--whether it had been shot, stolen, or run away. Nor did I in any way allude to my share in the battle. My questions were, however, numerous enough during our return. The Bannocks had, indeed, been completely routed. Saving Colonel Connor's defeat of the Indians on Bear River, it was the most terrible defeat the red-skins had met with, since I had taken up my residence in this portion of the country. As I afterwards learned, some four hundred of them had been slain, and almost as large a number of horses had been captured.