"_Maldito sea_!" continued the trapper, taking the wooden leg from his waist, and hammering the hat with it against a stone--"_maldito sombrero_! but for that accursed invention, we poor trappers wouldn't be as we are now. _Carrambo_! it's fetched beaver down to a plew a plug; while only ten years ago, we could get six _pesos_ the skin! Only think of that! _Carrai-i-i_!" Pronouncing this last exclamation with bitter aspirate, the incensed trapper gave the unfortunate hat one more blow with his timber leg; and then, spurning the battered tile from his toe, hobbled back to his horse! Sure-shot was disposed to be angry, but a word set all right. I perfectly comprehended the nature of the trapper's antipathy to silk hats, and explained it to my comrade. In their eyes, the absurd head-gear is more hideous than even to those who are condemned to wear it--for the trappers well know, that the introduction of the silk hat has been the ruin of their peculiar calling. "'Twan't much o' a hat, after all," said Sure-shot, reconciled by the explanation. "It b'longed to the sutler at the Fort: for yee see, capting, as we left theere for a leetle bit o' a hurry, I couldn't lay my claws on my own ole forage-cap; so I took the hat in its place? an' thet's how I kim by the thing. But heer's a hat perhaps, mister, this heer'll pleeze ye better? Will it, eh?" As Sure-shot put the question, he took up the plumed bonnet of an Arapaho warrior--which had been left lying among the rocks--and, adjusting the gaudy circlet upon his head, strode backward and forward over the ground with all the swelling majesty of an Indian dandy! The odd-looking individual and his actions caused the laughter of the bystanders to break forth in loud peals. The Mexican fairly screamed, interlarding his cachinnations with loud "santissimas," and other Spanish exclamations; while even the wounded man under the waggon was unable to restrain himself at the mirth-provoking spectacle. CHAPTER EIGHTY. SPIRITUAL WIVES. I joined not in the merriment of my companions. I took no share in their mirth. The trapper's story had intensified the anguish of my thoughts; and now, that I found time to dwell upon its purport, my reflections were bitter beyond expression. I could have no doubt as to who was the heroine of that strange history. She who had been so shamefully deceived--she who had so nobly risked her life to save her honour--she the wild huntress, by the Utahs called _Ma-ra-nee_--could be no other than that _Marian_, of whom I had heard so much--Marian Holt!