fired—once—twice. Another frightful cry made yet more

from which no tidings had as yet been received.

Next morning the first thing I saw when I put my head out from my

blankets was "Cut-mouth John," already mounted and parading himself

through the camp. The scalp of the Indian he had despatched the day

before was tied to the cross-bar of his bridle bit, the hair dangling

almost to the ground, and John was decked out in the sacred vestments

of Father Pandoza, having, long before any one was stiring in camp,

ransacked the log-cabin at the Mission in which the good man had