THE SUN was just sinking out of sight behind the western mountains, and the shadows of twilight were beginning to creep through the valley, when two horsemen, who had been picking their way along the rocky and almost impassible road that ran through Bridger’s Pass, drew rein on the summit of an elevation and looked about them. One of them was a trapper—he never would have been taken for anything else—a man about forty years of age, and a giant in strength and stature. The very small portion of his face that could be seen over his thick, bushy whiskers was as brown as an Indian’s; and from under the tattered fur cap that was slouched over his forehead, peeped forth a pair of eyes as sharp as…
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