"Father," Valentine then said, "is the game plentiful in the desert just at present?"
"Yes, there is a great deal: the buffaloes have come down from the mountains in herds—the elks, the deer, and the antelopes swarm."
Valentine rubbed his hands.
"It will be a good season," he said.
"Yes, for you. As for myself, I have no cause of complaint, for the Indians have been most attentive to me."
"All the better. I ever tremble when I know you are among those red devils. I do not say that of the Comanches, who are warriors I esteem, and have always displayed the sincerest affection for you; but I have a terrible fear lest those villains of Apaches may play you a wicked trick some fine day."
"Why entertain such ideas, my friend?"
"They are correct. You cannot imagine what treacherous and cruel cowards those Apache thieves are. I know them, and carry their marks; but do not frighten yourself. If ever they ventured on any extremities against you, I know the road to their villages: there is not a nook in the desert which I have not thoroughly explored. It is not for nothing I have received the name of the 'Trail-hunter.' I swear to you I will not leave them a scalp."
"Valentine, you know I do not like to hear you speak so. The Indians are poor ignorant men, who know not what they do, and must be pardoned for the evil they commit."
"All right—all right!" the hunter growled. "You have your ideas on that score, and I mine."