The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1890-02-05

GlleS, VINO was 1OllOWeu ny tue mule,
while I brought up the rear. More heat
and perspiration, more WEAKNESS of flesh,
more unquenchable, or rather fre-proof
gayety on the part of Dick. When we
halted at noon I made discovery.
Through all my vicissitudes had car
ried with me a patent instantaneous
Photographic camera, not so big as an
ordinary hat-box, and capable of taking
four by five picture, without the use of
a stand or other cumbersome accoutre-
ments. I had brought hundred pre-
pared plates along with me, most of
which had already been decorated with
such scraps of Western scenes as had
seemed to me most characteristic or
amusing. I valued the collection
prodigiously; it was the only journal I
had, and was full of associations; and
now, just when I was looking forward
to speedy return to civilization, dis
coved that my camera and plates were
missing. I had left them at our last
nights sleeping ground.
I at once announced my determination
to 90 back and get my camera.
Giles shook his big head. Dick So
berly declared that it would be little
short of madness. He pointed out that
it might have dropped off anywhere on
the route, and either tumbled into the
river or fallen under sage bush, or 9TH
erwise hidden itself after the manner of
such things. Again, I should wear out
my horse, by doubling the distance we
had already travelled that day; and, final
ly, what was the use of lot of amateur
photographs, anyway But I still held to
my purpose, and began to strap the sad
die on my devoted mustang.
"Well," said Dick, at length, "I'll
tell you what we'll do. There's a nice
clump of trees about six miles further on,
and, if you are fixed in your insanity,
Giles and I will 60 forward easily, and
wait for you there. 1t will be a good
place to spend the night in, and will give
you chance for a rest when you come
back. But I tell you frankly, never ex-
pect to see you again"
"Good-bye, old man; you're an idiot!"
was Giles's farewell. And with that, I
touched my heel to the mustangs flank,
and cantered slowly off on the return
trail.
Three hours rather leisurely travelling
brought me to the site of our camp.
Nothing was to be seen there of the
camera. AS all the baggage had been
kept together in one place, it ought to
have been Immediately visible. I was
puzzled by this, and racked my brain for
a solution. While was debating the
question, snake glided out of hole in
the ground, and wriggled off toward
clump of bushes. Mechanic
ally, drew my revolver and fired at him.
The bullet struck him in the thickest part
of the body. I walked up to put him
out of his pain, and caught sight of cor
ner of my camera protruding from be-
meath ncighboring shrub. I picked it
up, strapped it to my belt, and, after al
lowing my horse half an hours rest, I
re-saddled and remounted and set out
towards the west once more. But all the
while I was thinking, "How did the
camera get therc!" 1t was twenty PAGES,
at least from the camp. 1t could not
have got there by accident. At last I
came to the conclusion that Dick must
have hidden it there for fun, and then
forgotten all about it; and when I had
discovered the loss, and showed such
concern at it, he had held his tongue for
fear of row. That was the best expla-
nation I could devisei and it was not
very satisfactory one, after all.
Irode on and on through the broiling
afternoon. was glad to have recovered
my camera, but I was not in a very good
humor, and, being alone, my thoughts
took a gloomy turn, and I lost myself in
gloomy memories and forebodings. At
length I reused myself to find that the
region I was in was strange to me. I
had certainly not passed through it with
the others. looked at my watch; it
was four hours since I had set out on my
return. I must, therefore, have already
passed our noon resting place. But, on
the other hand, I must be near the grove
of trees that Dick had mentioned as our
night halt. 1 rode on for nearly an
other hour, and came to fork in the
river. Which way had the others gone?
I searched along the bank of the left
branch, but found no trail. Iforded the
stream and searched on the other side.
Half an hours labor brought me on the
hoof marks of the two mustangs and the
mule. To my surprise, after proceeding
along the bank for mile or two, they
turned off to the right, and disappeared
toward the northwest, right across the
great alkai desert of Yuma. It was in
but had no choice but
to follow.
1t was FIVE o'clock in the afternoon,
but the sun was nearly three hours high.
The air was perfectly still; the sky was
of dull hue, ipclining to coppery at the
horizon. The white surface of the alkali
glittcred on every side, dazzling my
eyes. My horse was iaded; 1 began to
feel grave apprehensions. Could it be
that I had mistaken some other trail for
theirs? cast my eyes on the ground.
No trail was visible. I had lost it, and
was myself lost!
For moment my heart failed me.
Then, manning myself, I bore on my left
rein, and began to ride in great circle.
In twenty minutes I struck trail-it
was my own. Well, 1 would try larger
circle still.
Just as started, my mustang raised
his head. snortcd and neiuhed H.