“Good name,” said the other man, laughing boisterously. Now that he had discovered that apparently there was only one man approaching, Reuben’s confidence in his own ability to protect himself returned in full measure. “What are you doing here?” demanded Rat. “Trying to get out.” “Where did you come from?” “Last night I came from the plains. I was chasing a buffalo herd and my horse fell in a prairie-dog village and broke his leg. I had to shoot him.” “You weren’t alone, were you?” “No.” “Who was with you?” “Three Cheyennes came to join me for a little while, but then they went on, so I was left alone.” “Yes, but who was with you before the redskins?” “Jean Badeau.” “Who’s he?” “A trapper.” “He’s a trapper, is he? Well, has he ever tried it before?” “Yes.” “Where did he sell his skins?” “Sometimes he took them to the trading-post and sometimes he took them to Pain Court.” “Are you and he the only men here?” “Yes,” answered Reuben with a laugh. “And he isn’t here now. At least I can’t find him.” “Where did you leave him?” “I can’t even find the place where I left him. You see, as I told you, I started out last night to shoot one or two buffaloes. I got one and then I chased along after another, but I think I must have gone farther than I knew, for I couldn’t find my way back before dark.” “Do you think that you can find it now that it is light?” “I don’t know,” replied Reuben dubiously. As he spoke he glanced in the direction in which it seemed to him the place where he had left Jean must lie. “I don’t mind telling you,” began the stranger, “that I’m a trapper myself.” “Have you ever been here before?” The man, who was at least six feet three inches tall, and large in every way, threw back his head and emitted a laugh that was proportionate to the size of his body. “‘Have I been here before?’” repeated the stranger. “Well, just a little. Last year I took in over one thousand beaver skins. I shot more than two hundred buffaloes. I hugged a grizzly bear until he yelled for mercy. I killed two Utes with one bullet.” Reuben was looking intently at the stranger as he spoke and was inclined to believe that he was telling the truth. It was plain that the newcomer was a man of great physical strength, and his exploits, which he described in a loud voice, were not altogether improbable. At all events, the boy decided that the man was in nowise bashful, whatever his other faults might be. “Yes, sir,” continued Rat. “I guess if you were to ask the redskins about me there aren’t many of them that can’t tell you who I am. I’ve fought them single-handed and alone, and then, again, I’ve fought them when there were hundreds of them together. I thought at first I would go up along the Oregon this trip, but I soon decided that too many others would be there, too. I don’t like company. That’s the reason I wasn’t very much pleased when I first saw you here.” “Do you own this country out here?” inquired Reuben soberly.