At one side of the cage was a door of strong, two-inch planks, fastened to slide up and down in grooves. This door was closed, and the top edge of it weighted down with a big stone. “Waugh!” exclaimed Nomad, pulling up his horse. “Ef et ain’t er b’ar-trap I’m er Piegan.” “Whoop-yah-h-h!” came the howl of distress once more, and there was not the least doubt about its being inside the trap. Nomad slid down from the saddle, dropped to his knees, and peered between the logs. Then he began to laugh. Inside the trap, likewise on his hands and knees, was a caged man. The man had fiery red hair, and his broad face was fringed all around with fiery red whiskers. “Divil take yez!” snorted the man in the trap, with a brogue that was rich and fluent. “A laughin’ matther, is ut? Come insoide a whoile, like mesilf, an’ see av yez can laugh.” “Sufferin’ varmints!” chuckled the trapper. “Et’s an Irish b’ar, blamed ef et ain’t.” “Begorry,” came the response, “Oi’m Irish, an’ proud av bein’ from th’ ould sod, but it’s no b’ar Oi am. Rub yer eyes, an’ look ag’in. Did yez iver hear a bear _talk_? G’wan wid yer funnin’.” “I’ve seen er b’ar do everythin’ but talk. What’s yer name, my unforchnit friend?” “Golightly.” “An’ how did ye come ter git in ther trap?” “Och, wurra, Oi didn’t come t’ git in. Oi was on me way t’ Phanix, an’ was shtopped on th’ road an’ put in.” “Whar ye from?” “Th’ Three-ply Moine. Oi do be worrukin’ f’r McGowan.” “I don’t riccolect seein’ ye at ther Three-ply, Golightly, an’ I’ve been thar fer two er three days.” “Oi’ve seen yersilf there, wid Buffalo Bill an’ th’ little redshkin yez call Cayuse. Are yez goin’ t’ let me out, or are yez goin’ t’ set there chinnin’ wid me on me hands an’ knees an’ me back half-broke?” “I’m goin’ ter let ye out, pilgrim,” said Nomad, getting up and walking to the door of the trap. Throwing off the stone, he lifted the door, and Golightly rolled out, with a shout of satisfaction at finding himself free. Clenching his fists, he shook them in the air; then, jumping high and knocking his heels together, he stooped down and patted the earth with one hand. “Yez hear me?” he roared. “Oi can lick th’ blackguards wid me wan hand tied behind me back!” “Ef ye’re able ter do thet, Golightly,” grinned Nomad, “fer why did ye let ther blackguards put ye in ther b’ar-trap?” “Oi was taken by surprise, that’s whoy!” glared Golightly. “Tell me erbout et,” returned the old trapper, climbing into his saddle and hooking one knee about the horn.