GORILLA JAKE. Tim Benson, having by some clever and careful climbing, got out of the cañon gorge, and to the high ground beyond it, was hastening along, hurrying so rapidly to put distance between himself and the men he feared that he had not stopped even long enough to remove the woman’s dress he wore, when he was brought to a sudden and gasping halt by seeing a revolver poked at him over the top of a bush. “Try ter draw a gun, and I’ll down ye!” came in warning from behind the bush. Benson’s hands, going involuntarily to the revolver he carried, stopped on touching the dress, which at the moment he had forgotten he was wearing. “Hands up!” repeated the fellow behind the bush. Grumbling, and still ready to fight, Benson complied; he did not believe the man who spoke was one of Buffalo Bill’s followers, which increased the likelihood that the man was an outlaw, like himself. “Come out of that, and let me see you!” he said. “Likely I know you, if you’ve been herding round here.” The man came out, with his revolver leveled. As soon as Benson saw him he dropped down with a breath of relief, then began to laugh, as an understanding of the situation came to him. Yet the man saw nothing to laugh at. “I’ll jest take that there hand bag,” he said, “and any other vallybles ye’ve got about ye.” “Wow! Gorilla Jake!” The man stopped with a grunt of surprise, but still kept the revolver pointed at Benson. “It’s funny, eh?” he said. “Well, explain it, so’s I can laugh with ye.” The fellow was a very giant, so far as stature went; but he seemed an immense ape, or gorilla, rather than a man. His arms were so abnormally long that the one which hung down at his side extended to his knee. His legs, by comparison, were short. His body was long; his shoulders big and thick. His head was small, with cunning, apelike eyes, set in the midst of a hairy face. His clothing was rough; his hat, a brimless thing, crowded down so tightly on his skull that the small size of his head was clearly shown. “Who--who do you think I am?” Benson gasped. “I reckon you’re ther woman what let out the screech when I come up to the stage over thar, after it whanged into the rock. I looked in at ye; then you give out that clippin’ yell and streaked it; I never see a female make sech a jump. And run! Well, you was runnin’ like a locomotive. I seen you had a hand bag, and that the stage held nothin’; so I piked out and follered ye. Now, I’ll take the hand bag.” Tim Benson stared at the apelike man before him. “When was this?” he asked. “Waal, I’m figgerin’ that you know that jest as well as I do. I’ll thank ye fer the hand bag.” “Was it _this_ hand bag?” “I’m sayin’ it was. Hand it over.” “See here, you’re fooled.”