It was a painful surprise both to Edwin Inwood and Jim Tubbs when they met each other in . They together, and acquainted themselves with their history after their separation during the day.  
“Poor George will be anxious enough about us,” said the boy. “I feel worse on his account than I do on my own.”
 
“What’s de matter wid him?” asked the negro, not exactly comprehending the force of this remark.
 
“Nothing, so far as I know; but what will he think when he comes back and finds nothing of us?”
 
“Tink we ain’t dere, I s’pose.”
 
“I don’t believe these people intend us any harm. They have treated us both so that they will let us go to-morrow.”
 
 
“Hope so.”
 
“I see among these who came with you, the same one that we had in the cave the other day.”
 
“Yes; me an’ him are great friends,” replied Jim, with an important air. “I kinder tink he always had a notion of me.”
 
They chatted together until toward morning, when, becoming sleepy, both lay down upon the ground, and slept until daylight. The African race is proverbial for its , and it required some hard shaking upon the part of Edwin before he could arouse his companion. But once awake, he was so, and he arose to his feet.
 
The Mohaves had the camp-fire burning, and a number of birds, which resembled , cooking, while they had collected quite a quantity of mesquite beans, very numerous more south in California, and occasionally encountered further north. These furnished an abundant and nourishing breakfast, much needed by our friends.
 
Daylight brought another surprise in the shape of a third prisoner—a large, stalwart looking man, dressed in the of an Indian—in fact, no other personage than he who had guarded the lake and the Island so . He was and , and his hands had been tied behind him for the purpose of security. He at his fellow prisoners, as he was brought up, and hated them as thoroughly as he did his captors.
 
On the other hand, the Mohaves were particularly toward the man, and, from his appearance, had been subjecting him to suffering and torture for their own amusement. Only two held him, and they must certainly have secured him by strategy, as he was almost as muscular as Jim, and would have been an ugly customer in a hand-to-hand struggle.
 
“They’ve got quite a lot of us,” he remarked, addressing Inwood.
 
“Yes; dar am tree ob us.”
 
 
The stranger paid no to the negro, but directly to Inwood.
 
“I s’pose you know what tribe these belong to?” he continued.
 
Edwin made answer that he did not.
 
“They are Mohaves—a villainous set of dogs. I consider ’em as bad as the Apaches, and you know they are as ugly as ugly can be.”
 
“They have treated us kindly.”
 
“Yes,” replied the stranger, with a contemptuous expression, “you will find out. You remember the Oatman family that were massacred, except a boy and two girls, in ’49, in crossing the plains?”
 
“Yes; I saw the son in New York, and one of the sisters, with her chin all with India ink, which they said the Indians did when they had her with them.”
 
“Do you know what tribe murdered them?”
 
“I heard, but I have forgotten.”
 
“It was these same Mohaves, and there ain’t a more villainous set of dogs this side of the Mississippi. You may make up your mind, as I have, that you’ll never see that sun go down again.”
 
This was uttered coolly, but with such an air of conviction as to its truth, as to send a chill to the hearts of the hearers.
 
“Bress de Lord! you don’t mean dat?” asked Jim, fairly quaking with terror. The stranger turned toward him, and said:
 
“There’s no chance for you, for I never seen an Indian that didn’t hate a nigger, and I’m with ’em there myself. If I could say the word, I wouldn’t get you out of this scrape, for you’ve no business in these parts.”
 
“Bress your heart! nobody has axed you to say a word; I’d rather hab de ill will ob such a lookin’ darkey as you dan your lub, an’ if you doesn’t like it, all I’ve got to say is, dat I’m at your sarvice, an’ you can help yourself.”
 
The stranger glared at Jim like a wild beast, but as his own hands were tied, and those of the African’s were not, he was unable to help himself.
 
“O, you needn’t look so lubbin’ at me!” said Jim, “I ain’t afeerd ob you; I’ll try an’ ’em to ontie your hands, an’ we’ll hug each other, if you want to.”
 
The stranger’s feelings were inexpressible, and in his contempt, he turned his back upon the negro, and addressed himself directly to Edwin.
 
“My name is Gaylor, and I’ve been out in these parts about a year, with a lot of others. We’ve had to and fight the Indians all the time, and they know me well enough I reckon, and there ain’t any great amount of love atween us. I’ve played some purty smart tricks upon ’em, but they got ahead of me at last. I was so tired last night that I lay down to sleep, and when I woke up, a couple of ’em had me fast, sure, and—well, you see I’m here with you.”
 
Inwood gave the particulars of their own misfortune, and then inquired:
 
“What have you been doing here?”
 
Gaylor hesitated a moment, showed some confusion, but quickly rallying himself, replied:
 
“The same as yourself, I suppose; we have been looking for gold.”
 
“You must have found something, or you would not have remained so long.”
 
“Well, yes, we have had tolerable luck—putty good I may say toward the last—but what good is it going to do me?”
 
“Not much, I am afraid, nor us either; but you had a number of friends with you, will they not attempt your rescue?”
 
Gaylor shook his head.
 
“No use of looking there; they’ll be sure I’ve been rubbed out, and won’t take the trouble to hunt me up.”
 
“How many are there?”
 
“Three beside myself. They think enough of me, too, and, if they thought there was a chance, they would be here in a jiffy; but what’s the use? They even don’t know that I’ve been run off with, but likely enough imagine that I have gone off on a hunt, and they won’t look for me back under a week.”
 
All three prisoners were seated on the ground close together, the Mohaves allowing them opportunity to without , although several scowled at Gaylor, as if to grant this small .
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