above it that the water was nearly at boiling heat—­a not very uncommon circumstance in that region.  While I looked, big bubbles began to rise to the surface, chase one another about, and burst; and suddenly, without any other preliminary movement, there occurred the most awful and astounding event that (with a single exception) it has ever been my lot to witness!  I stood rooted to the spot with horror, and when it was all over, and again the lake lay smiling placidly before me, I silently thanked Heaven I had been standing at some distance from the deceitful pool.  In a quarter of an hour the frightful scene was repeated, preceded as before by the rising and bursting of bubbles, and producing in me the utmost terror; but after seeing it three or four times I became calm.  Then I went back to camp, and told the boys there was a tolerably interesting pond near by, if they cared for such things.

At first they did not, but when I had thrown in a few lies about the brilliant hues of the water, and the great number of swans, they laid down their cards, left Lame Dave to look after the horses, and followed me back to see.  Just before we crossed the last range of hills we heard a thundering sound ahead, which somewhat astonished the boys, but I said nothing till we stood on a low knoll overlooking the lake.  There it lay, as peaceful as a dead Indian, of a dull grey colour, and as innocent of water-fowl as a new-born babe.

“There!” said I, triumphantly, pointing to it.

“Well,” said Bill Buckster, leaning on his rifle and surveying it critically, “what’s the matter with the pond?  I don’t see nothin’ in that puddle.”

“Whar’s yer swans?” asked Gus Jamison.

“And yer prismatic warter?” added Stumpy Jack.

“Well, I like this!” drawled Frenchwoman Pete.  “What ‘n thunder d’ ye mean, you derned saddle-coloured fraud?”

I was a little nettled at all this, particularly as the lake seemed to have buried the hatchet for that day; but I thought I would “cheek it through.”

“Just you wait!” I replied, significantly.

“O yes!” exclaimed Stumpy, derisively; “‘course, boys, you mus’ wait.  ‘Tain’t no use a-hurryin’ up the cattle; yer mustn’t rush the buck.  Jest wait till some feller comes along with a melted rainbow, and lays on the war-paint! and another feller fetches the swans’ eggs, and sets on ’em, and hatches ’em out!—­and me a-holding both bowers an’ the ace!” he added, regretfully, thinking of the certainty he had left, to follow a delusive hope.

Then I pointed out to them a wide margin of wet and steaming clay surrounding the water on all sides, asking them if that wasn’t worth coming to see.

“That!” exclaimed Gus.  “I’ve seen the same thing a thousand million times!  It’s the reg’lar thing in Idaho.  Clay soaks up the water and sweats it out.”

To verify his theory he started away, down to the shore.  I was concerned for Gus, but I did not dare call him back for fear of betraying my secret in some way.  Besides, I knew he would not come; and he ought not to have been so sceptical, anyhow.