Yet if Love Lack

Jackson rose in his stirrups, dropped his lead line and forsook more
than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars some two mule-pack loads of
gold. His own yell rose high in answer.

"I told ye all the world'd be here!" he shouted back over his shoulder.
"Do-ee see that old thief Jim Bridger? Him I left drunk an' happy last
summer? Now what in hell brung him here?"

The two old mountain men flung off and stood hand in hand before Banion
had rescued the precious lead line and brought on the little train.

Bridger threw his hat on the ground, flung down his rifle and cast his
stoic calm aside. Both his hands caught Banion's and his face beamed,
breaking into a thousand lines.

"Boy, hit's you, then! I knowed yer hoss--he has no like in these
parts. I've traced ye by him this hundred miles below an' up agin, but
I've had no word this two weeks. Mostly I've seed that, when ye ain't
lookin' fer a b'ar, thar he is. Well, here we air, fine an' fatten, an'
me with two bottles left o' somethin' they call coggnac down in Yerba
Buena. Come on in an' we'll make medicine."

They dismounted. The two Indians, short, deep-chested, bow-legged men,
went to the packs. They gruntled as they unloaded the two larger mules.

The kyacks were lined up and the mantas spread over them, the animals
led away for feed and water. Bridger produced a ham of venison, some
beans, a bannock and some coffee--not to mention his two bottles of
fiery fluid--before any word was passed regarding future plans or past
events.