on the first opportunity, and certain it was,
from the day Jack was lost, Jeff was a changed man.  He kept his word,
and never touched a drop of drink.  It was no easy matter to break off
a long-indulged habit, but when he found the desire for it growing too
strong, and felt inclined to yield to the temptation, he would think of
little Jack sitting by the camp fire singing his hymns, and as the
bright face of the boy rose before him, it would break the evil spell
and the longing for drink would pass away.  He stayed about for some
days, hoping to hear something of Jack, but he was obliged at last to
believe that in all human probability the boy had died of exposure on
the prairie.

'We may never know for certain,' said he, 'but I'm feared as his mother
'll never see him again, for I think he's _dead_.'




CHAPTER VII.

JACK IS RESCUED.

But Jack was not dead.  When he returned to consciousness, he was
surprised to find himself no longer on the prairie, but lying on
sheep-skins spread over a wooden couch, and covered with a blanket.

He was in a rough kind of tent, and through the turned-back flap of
canvas at the entrance, he could see the prairie.  He could remember
nothing of what had happened, and tried to imagine how in the world he
had got into such a place.  His head still ached badly, and, putting
his hand up, he found his forehead was bandaged.  He felt very weak and
ill, but his surroundings were so strange to him, he tried to sit up
and look about him.  The effort was too much for him, and with a groan
of pain he fell back on the sheep-skins.

At the sound he made, a man appeared at the tent-door, and approached
the couch.  He was a fine-looking fellow, evidently a Mexican, from his
swarthy complexion, but there was a look of compassion in his dark eyes
that inspired Jack with confidence, and made him feel that he had found
a friend in need.

'Where am I?' he asked feebly, fearing the man would not understand the
English words, and his relief was great when the Mexican answered:

'In my tent.  I had lo