What had brought such an individual to such a place? I asked this question, and was soon enlightened. He had been a soldier in a frontier post, one of Uncle Sam's "Sky-blues." He had got tired of pork and pipe-clay, accompanied with a too liberal allowance of the hide. In a word, Barney was a deserter. What his name was, I know not, but he went under the appellation of O'Cork--Barney O'Cork. A laugh greeted his answer to the hunter's question. "Any o' us," continued the speaker, "could plug the persimmon that a way. But thar's a mighty heap o' diff'rence when you squints thro' hind-sights at a girl like yon." "Ye're right, Dick," said another hunter; "it makes a fellow feel queery about the jeints." "Holy vistment! An' wasn't she a raal beauty?" exclaimed the little Irishman, with an earnestness in his manner that set the trappers roaring again. "Pish!" cried Rube, who had now finished loading, "yur a set o' channering fools; that's what 'ee ur. Who palavered about a post? I've got an ole squaw as well's the Injun. She'll hold the thing for this child--she will." "Squaw! You a squaw?" "Yes, hoss; I has a squaw I wudn't swop for two o' his'n. I'll make tracks an' fetch the old 'oman. Shet up yur heads, an' wait, will ye?" So saying, the smoky old sinner shouldered his rifle, and walked off into the woods. I, in common with others, late comers, who were strangers to Rube, began to think that he had an "old 'oman." There were no females to be seen about the encampment, but perhaps she was hid away in the woods. The trappers, however, who knew him, seemed to understand that the old fellow had some trick in his brain; and that, it appeared, was no new thing for him.