No sooner was I seen by them, than they shouted out to me. My lips strove to frame a shout in reply. But even to myself, my voice sounded a long way off. It was so faint and low that they did not hear a word. Rushing towards me, Bill cried out: "What his the matter, Mose?" Butch' demanded: "Have yer got any game?" The only answer I could give them was to hold out the two scalps I had taken. Startled by this and my struggling silence, for they knew I was attempting to speak, they looked at my dress, and in spite of the fading light, saw its torn and dilapidated condition, and the blood with which it was smeared and streaked almost in every part. Bill gave a groan, and said: "Get Mose to the camp, Butch'! Hi'll go hand look hafter 'is rifle, before some hother thieving Hingin cusses find hit." In an another instant Ben Painter had lifted me, and throwing me, gently enough, although it caused me frightful suffering in my shoulder, across his own, strode down the cañon. Indeed, so great was the pain from the merciless blow I had received, that I remember little beside it, until I found myself sitting on the ground, leaning against Painter's knee. The whole of the upper portion of my dress had been stripped off, while Butch' was bathing the black and swollen flesh which had been struck with the clubbed rifle. How it happened that no bones were broken by it, is, even now, a marvel to me. When they found me again able to speak, the boys began to ply me with questions. But while I was answering them, Brighton Bill appeared on the scene. His search of the ground on which I had run such a risk of being completely chawed up, must have been a pretty thorough one. He brought in, not only two rifles, but two United States blankets, several unopened boxes of caps, two cans of powder, and, in addition to these, a small keg of Uncle Sam's whiskey. This had already been opened, and may possibly account for the red rascals having forgotten the reason for which they had so liberally partaken of his bounty. The whiskey was a veritable God-send, for we were out of the article. A tincupful (this time I did not ask for a second before eating) did more to put me to rights, and enable me to forget my pain, than the care which the Rangers had been bestowing on me. "If ever there was a good Samaritan, Bill, you are one." Let me here record the fact that Bill knew nothing about Samaritans, for good or evil. Nor, indeed, am I inclined to think, had any of the others a very correct idea of my meaning. Even the teaching of a New England Sunday-school had been forgotten, as I deeply regret being obliged to say one of the boys hailed from the classically Methodist locality of New Bedford.