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n th<j wy; and though everything above, around and beneath, seemed conspiring to make us cheerful, yet our thoughts only rendered our hearts the more gloomy by contrast.

A ride of less than three hours brought us to a spot of the mountain that seemed cf easy ascent, when Prairie Flower drew in rein, and said with a sigh:

"Y\mr route lies yonder. Keep a little to the south of west, and avoid traveling after dark, or you may plunge over some precipice and be dashed to pieces."

Huntly now appeared too agitated to reply, and it was with difficulty I could myself summon words to my aid.

"And so, dear Prairie Flower," I at length articulated, "we are to part here?"

"I fear we must."

"Shall we ever meet again?"

"God only knows," she answered, trem bling nervously, and dropping her eyes to the ground."

"To attempt to express our gratitude to you," I rejoined, "would be worse than vnin; words could not speak it; the heart alone can, and that you cannot see, only through external expressions. Of one thipg, fair being, rest assured : that in the secret chambers of the souls of Francis Leighton and Charles Huntly, is engraved a name that will never be erased that of the noble and generous Prairie Flower."

"Say r,o more I I beg of you!" she gasped, waving her hand, and -then placing it to her heart, as if to still its wild th robbings.

"Prairie Flower," said Huntly, in a tremulous voice, " if I part without a word, you may think me ungrateful. It is not so. Do not think so. I- know this heart "

"No more no more!

own trembled violently, and her lips re fused a reply. The next moment, fearing doubtless the effect of a longer trial of her feelings and nerves, she turned her pony, and signing me an adieu with her hand, dashed rapidly away, and soon disappear ed from our view in the deep forest.

Huntly sighed, but made no remark, and silently and slowly we began our ascent of the mountain.

That night we slept on the brow of the Black Hills, at a point overlooking a larg extent of the Laramie Plains.

CHAPTE R XXI.

IN SIGHT OF BROWN'S HOLE A DASH DOWH

THE MOUNTAIN APPEARANCE OF THB

PLACE THE OLD TRAPPER DISAPPOINT MENT EXORBITANT PRICES A GAMBLING

QUARREL A MOUNTAINEER DUEZ HOR RIBLE RESULT.

IT was a beautiful morning, not far from the middle of September, that, ascending a hill at the base of which we had encamp ed the night previous, we overlooked a charming green valley, completely shut in by hills, through the very center of which, like a long line of molten silver, we beheld a bright stream taking its devious course. Not the least agreeable and enchanting to to us, was the sight of a few shanties, erect ed along the margin of the river, and the moving to and fro of several white human beings. And not the less pleasant the sight, that we had been some two weeks on a fa tiguing journey of more than two hundred miles, over mountains, plains, and rivers, Could you without having seen a solitary individual but ourselves.

cried the other. "I oee I know I understand all. Too

much too much. Go! go! I Go,

and God's blessing attend you both! I

She paused, and grasped the mane of aer beast to save herself from falling.

"Then farewell," rejoined Huntly, ri ding up to her side and extending his hand. "You. will never be forgotten by T,e; and should we meet not again then far-.-well for-ever."

Frairie Flower clasped his hand, but her than dangerous

The valley we now beheld was the point of our present destination, a rendezvous for the trappers, hunters, and traders cf this part of the country, and known as Brown's Hole. I have not described our journey hither, after parting with Prairie Flower, as but little of interest to the gen eral reader occurred on the route, beyond fatigue of travel, an occasional escape from a fatal plunge over some precipice, and one violent storm on the Medicine Bow, which proved far more d