Frank then proceeded to relate all that had transpired at the camp; told how closely the men had questioned him concerning the intended movements of old Bob; repeated all the threats which the outlaw had made, and concluded his narrative with saying:
“He told me that when I saw old Bob again, I could say to him, that the next time he wanted to catch Black Bill, he—”
“Black Bill!” almost yelled the trapper. “Black Bill! That ar’ tells the hul story. The scoundrel had better steer cl’ar of me an’ old Bob, ’cause I’m Bob’s chum now, an’ any harm that’s done to him is done to me too. I can tell you, you keerless feller, you oughter be mighty glad that you aint rubbed out altogether.”
“I begin to think so too,” replied Frank; “but, Dick, I want my horse.”
“Wal, then, you’ll have to wait till he comes to you, or till them ar’ fellers git ready to fetch him back. ’Taint no ’arthly use to foller ’em, ’cause they’ll be sartin to put a good stretch of country atween them an’ ole Bob afore they stop. Your hoss ar’ teetotally gone, youngster—that’s as true as gospel. I tell you ag’in, ’taint every one that Black Bill let’s off so easy. Climb up behind me, an’ let’s travel back to the ole bar’s hole.”
Frank handed his rifle to his companion, mounted Sleepy Sam, and the trappers drove toward the camp, slowly and thoughtfully. For nearly an hour they rode along without speaking to each other. Dick, occasionally shaking his head and muttering “Bar an’ buffaler—you keerless feller.” But at length he straitened up in the saddle, and holding his heavy rifle at arm’s length, exclaimed:
“Youngster, I don’t own much of this world’s plunder, an’ what’s more, I never expect to. But what little I have got is of use to me, an’ without it I should soon starve. But I’d give it all up sooner nor sleep in a camp with Black Bill an’ his band of rascals. I’d fight ’em now if I should meet ’em, an’ be glad of the chance; but thar’s a heap of difference atween goin’ under, in a fair skrimmage, an’ bein’ rubbed out while you ar’ asleep. Durin’ the forty year I’ve been knocked about, I’ve faced a’most every kind of danger from wild Injuns an’ varmints, an’ I never onct flinched—till I rid on them steam railroads—but, youngster, I wouldn’t do what you done last night fur nothin’. Howsomever, the danger’s all over now, an’ you have come out with a hul skin; so tell me what you done while you war lost.”
The manner in which the trapper spoke of the danger through which he had passed, frightened Frank exceedingly. He knew that Dick was as brave as a man could possibly be, and the thought that he had unconsciously exposed himself to peril that the reckless trapper would shrink from encountering, occasioned feelings of terror, which could not be quieted even by the knowledge that he had passed the ordeal with safety; and when, in compliance with the guide’s request, he proceeded to relate his adventures, it was with a trembling voice, that could not fail to attract the trapper’s attention.
“I don’t wonder you’re skeered,” said he, as Frank finished his story. “It would skeer a’most any body. But it’s over, now, an’ it aint no ways likely you’ll ever meet ’em ag’in. Me an’ ole Bob will see ’em some day, an’ when we settle with ’em, we will be sartin to take out pay fur that hoss. When we git to camp Bob’ll tell you how he happens to owe Black Bill a settlement. When we seed you goin’ off in that ar’ way,” continued the trapper, turning around in his saddle so as to face Frank, “we didn’t feel no ways skeery ’bout your comin’ back all right, if you got away from the buffalers. Your uncle said, ‘In course the boy has got sense enough to see that the mountains now ar’ on his right hand, an’ to know that when he wants to come back, he must keep them on his left hand;’ an’ jest afore he went to sleep, I heered him say to ole Bob, ‘I wonder how Frank is gettin’ on without his blanket.’ Your little cousin said, ‘I hope he’ll fetch back my rifle, an’ my possible-sack, an’ the things what’s in it, all right, ’cause I should hate to lose them Injun’s top-knots.’ I guess he won’t laugh none, when he finds out that all them stone arrer-heads, an’ spear-heads, an’ other fixin’s ar’ gone. Ole Bob, he knowed, too, that you would turn up all right if you could keep on your hoss till he stopped. But, bar and buffaler! we didn’t think you war goin’ to camp with that varlet, Black Bill. If we had, thar wouldn’t have been much sleepin’ done in our camp last night.”
Having thus assured Frank that his friends had entertained no fears of his ability to find his way back to the wagon, the trapper again alluded to the subject of the robbery, obliging his young companion to relate the particulars over and over again, each time expressing his astonishment and indignation in no very measured terms. In this way they passed the fifteen miles that lay between them and the camp, and finally arrived within sight of the “ole bar’s hole.”