"Why do you ask?"
"Because it belongs to the gal we're after. She felt mighty bad at losing it. I promised to help her find it. I s'pose it lost off her finger and you picked it up?" The half-suspicious, half-inquiring tone in which this last sentence was put brought a faint smile to the haggard countenance of his hearer.
"It shall be returned to her—be sure of that, friend—that is, if she be not lost forever! My God, I can not give up! After so many years—and now—is my punishment never to cease? Man! man!" he cried, catching and wringing Joe's hand, all the pride vanished from his manner, "she is mine, my child! my only child! I have found her only to lose her. Oh, say, is there not something yet to be tried? I can not go back!"
"Wal, that beats all," muttered Joe, looking curiously to see some token of insanity in his companion's eyes.
"I'm telling you the plain, simple truth; that girl is my own daughter; this ring is mine as well as hers—her mother's wedding-ring. Say that you will not give up, friend," he persisted.
"I s'pose there's water about five or ten miles easterly, and we mought possibly find some kind of game near it, to make a supper on. If it'll relieve your mind any, stranger, we'll camp thar' to-night, and let the train go on without us. It's risky, and it won't do no good—but it shan't be said that Buckskin Joe ever give up, while any body else held out—so thar'!"
Their hands met in a strong grip which sealed the promise; again their horses were started on, and for the next hour they rode along the sultry plain silently, with sharp, attentive glances, discovering nothing to stimulate their sinking hopes.
"What's that! what in thunder?" suddenly spoke Joe, stopping his horse, and pointing to a dark object lying in a little heap nearly a mile away on the yellow plain.
"It looks like an antelope," said Mr. Carollyn, looking in the direction indicated.