With all these items they are amply provided; and were there now any necessity for continuing the pursuit, or the prospect of striking another coup, they would go on, even though the chase should conduct them into the defiles of the Rocky Mountains.

To pursue and slay the savage is their vocation, their duty, their pastime and pleasure.
But the settlers are desirous of a speedy return to their homes, that they may relieve the anxiety of other dear ones, who there await them.
They long to impart the glad tidings they will take with them.
While the preparations for departure are going on, Cully--who, with several others, has been collecting the arms and accoutrements of their slain enemies--gives utterance to a cry that brings a crowd of his comrades around him.
"What is it, Nat ?" inquires the Ranger captain.
"Look hyar, cap! D'ye see this gun ?" "Yes; a hunter's rifle.

Whose is it ?" "That's jess the questyin; though thar ain't no questyin about it.
Boys, do any o' ye recognise this hyar shootin' iron ?" One after another the Rangers step up, and look at the rifle.
"I do," says one.
"And I," adds another.
And a third, and fourth, make the same affirmation, all speaking in tones of surprise.
"Walt Wilder's gun," continues Cully, "sure an' sartin.

I know it, an oughter know it.

See them two letters in the stock thar--`WW.' Old Nat Cully hez good reezun to recconise them, since 'twas hisself that cut 'em.