Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

CONTENTS

I Comanches 9

II In Camp 22

III The Comanches and Their Prize 27

IV The Emigrant Party 33

V Leonidas Swipes, Sheep Dealer 39

VI Florence Brandon 45

VII Fort Mifflin Institute 52

VIII An Apache Courtship 58

IX An Audacious Proceeding 64

X Preparing for the Pursuit 71

XI Pursuit 78

XII The Apache Gorge 84

XIII The Rescue 90

XIV Conclusion 97

THE THREE TRAPPERS.

CHAPTER I.
COMANCHES.

It was now quite late in the afternoon, and Fred Wainwright reined up his mustang, and from his position took a survey of the surrounding prairie. On his right stretched the broad dusty plain, broken by some rough hills, and on his left wound the Gila, while in the distance could be detected the faint blue of the Maggolien Mountains.

But it was little heed he paid to the natural beauties of the scene, for an uncomfortable fear had taken possession of him during the last hour. Once or twice he was sure he had detected, off towards the mountains signs of Comanche Indians, and he was well satisfied that if such were the case they had assuredly seen him, and just now he was speculating upon the best line of retreat if such were the case.

“If they are off there, and set their eyes on me,” he speculated, “the only chance for me is towards the Gila, and what can I do there?”

He might well ask the question, for it was one which would probably require a speedy answer. The Comanches, as are well known, are among the most daring riders and bravest red men on the American Continent, and when they take it into their heads to follow up an enemy, one of three things is certain—his destruction, a desperate fight or a skilful escape.

The young hunter had no desire to encounter these specimens of aboriginal cavalry, for he was certain in the first place that there were half a dozen of them, and that it would be madness to stand his ground, while his chances of eluding them were exceedingly dubious. Although mounted on a fine mustang, there was little doubt but what the Indians were equally well mounted, and he had little prospect of success in a trial of speed.

There was only one thing in his favor, and that was that night was close at hand. He was somewhat in the situation of the mariner when pursued by the pirate, who sees his only hope of life in the friendly darkness which is closing around. The young hunter looked at the low descending sun, and wondered what kept it so long above the horizon, and then he scanned every portion of the sky, to see whether no clouds were gathering in masses, which would increase the intensity of the darkness. But the sky was clear, although he remembered that there was no moon, and when night should fairly come it would be one of Egyptian gloom, which would give him all the shelter he wished.

At the precise point where the young hunter was journeying was a mass of tall grass, which partially concealed himself and horse, and which, as a natural consequence, he was reluctant to leave so long as he was sure that danger threatened him. His little mustang advanced slowly, his rider holding a tight rein and glancing toward the river, and then toward the hills on the right, from which he expected each moment to see the screeching Comanches emerge and thunder down toward him.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon the young hunter began to take heart.

“If they give me an hour longer, I think my chances will be good,” he muttered, growing more anxious each moment.

At one point in the hills he noticed a broken place, a sort of pass, from which he seemed to feel a premonition that the Indians would sally forth to make their attack; so before coming opposite he reined up, determined to proceed no further until it was dark enough to be safe.

He had sat in this position a half an hour or so, and the gloom was already settling over the prairie, when a succession of terrific yells struck upon his ear, and glancing toward the hills, he saw half a dozen Comanches thundering down toward him. The hunter at once threw himself off his horse, and resting his rifle on his back, sighted at the approaching redskins. They were nigh enough to be in range, and satisfied that they could be intimidated in no other way, he took a quick aim and fired.

Fred Wainwright possessed an extraordinary skill in the use of the rifle, and the shriek and the frantic flinging up of the arms, and the headlong stumble from his horse of the leading Comanche, showed that the fright of his situation had not rendered his nerves unsteady.

This decided action had the effect of checking the tumultuous advance for a few moments; but the hunter had been in the South-West long enough to understand the nature of these Comanches, and he knew they would soon be after him again. Springing on his horse therefore, he wheeled about without a moment’s delay, and started at full speed on his back track.

Wainwright soon made the gratifying discovery that the speed of his own mustang was equal to that of the animals bestrode by the Comanches, and that even for a time he steadily drew away from them. But his own horse was jaded with half a day’s tramp, and could maintain this tremendous gait for comparatively a short period, while those of the Indians were fresh and vigorous and could not fail soon to draw nigh him.

“However, if the fellow keeps this up for a half hour longer, we shall care nothing for them.”

The little animal strained every nerve, and worked as if he knew the fate of himself and master was depending upon his efforts. The young hunter glanced over his shoulder and could just discern his followers through the gloom, they still shouting and yelling like madmen, as if they sought to paralyze him through great terror. He loaded his gun as he rode, and several times was on the point of turning and exchanging shots with them; but he did not forget there were two parties to the business, and that their return shots might either kill or wound himself or mustang, the ultimate result in each case being the same. So he gave his whole attention to getting over the prairie as fast as possible.

About fifteen minutes had elapsed when the crack of a rifle rung out upon the air, and the bullet whistled within a few feet of the head of the fugitive. He again looked back and could see nothing of his pursuers. At this juncture he struck in among some tall grass similar to that in which he halted when he first beheld the Comanches; and at the same instant he saw that his beast was rapidly giving out.

He hated to part with him but it could not be helped. Delay would be fatal, and reining his horse down to a moderate canter, he sprang to the earth and gave him a blow, which sent him with renewed speed on his way.

Then running rapidly a few rods the hunter dropped flat on his face and listened. All the time he heard the thundering of the approaching horsemen, but he did not dare to raise his head to look. They came nearer and nearer, and the next moment had passed by and for the present he was safe.

Not doubting but that they would speedily come up with the fleeing mustang and discover the ruse played upon them, Wainwright arose to his feet and made all haste toward the Gila.

By this time it was very dark and he was guided only by a general knowledge of the direction in which it lay, and by the sound of its gentle flowing. Once along its steep banks he felt sure of being able to conceal himself, and, if needful, of throwing his enemies off his trail entirely, should they attempt pursuit, when it again became light.

Hurrying thus carelessly forward he committed a natural blunder but one which made him ashamed of himself. He walked straight off the bank a dozen feet high, dropping within a yard of a small camp fire, around which were seated two trappers smoking their pipes.

“Hullo, stranger, did you drop from the clouds?” asked one of them, merely turning his head without changing his position. The other turned his eyes slightly but did nothing more. “This ’yer what I call a new style of introducing yourself into gentlemen’s society; shoot me for a beaver if it aint!”

“That it is,” laughed Wainwright, “but you see I was in quite a hurry!”

“What made you in such a hurry?”

“I was fleeing from Indians——”

“What’s that?” demanded both of them in a breath.

“I was fleeing from Indians, and was looking more behind than in front of me.”

“That yer’s what I call a different story,” exclaimed the oldest, springing up and dashing the burning embers apart, so as to extinguish the light as soon as possible. It required but a few moments thoroughly to complete the work, when he turned to Wainwright and asked in a whisper:

“Mought they be close at hand, stranger?”

“I don’t think they are.”

“Have you time to talk a few minutes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then just squat yourself on the ground and tell us all about this scrape you ’pear to have got yourself into.”

Our hero did as requested, giving a succinct account of what we have told the reader, beginning the narration at precisely the same point in which we did, and carrying it up to his “stepping off” the bank. The two trappers listened respectfully until he was done, when one of them gave an expressive grunt.

“'Younker, you don’t look as if you had two faces, and I make no doubt you’ve told us the truth; but it was qua’r you should happen to be trampin’ alone so far away from the settlement.”

“I was with a party of hunters this morning, but became separated from them and was on my return to the camp when I was shut off in the manner I have told you.”

“Do you want to get back to them?”

“I aint particular,” laughed the young hunter, with a peculiar expression. “It aint likely they have waited an hour for me when they discovered my absence, and so I should be at a loss to know where to look for them.”

“Wal, it’s all the same to us,” said the trapper; “you don’t look like a scamp, and you can stay with us, if you want to do so.”

“You see, furthermore, that I have lost my horse, and shall have to take it afoot until I can buy or capture another.”

“We can fix that up easy enough,” grunted the trapper. “My hoss Blue Blazes can carry all that can get on his back, and we can give you a lift till you can scare up an animile of some kind or other.”

It was plain that the trappers were really kind at heart, and were anxious to give the young hunter a “lift.” They were rough in their manner and speech but the diamond is frequently forbidding in its appearance until it is polished, and the wonderful gem displayed.

While this trapper was conversing with the stranger, his companion had stealthily made his way down the bank some distance, where he had clambered up on the plain, and made a reconnoissance to assure himself that the “coast was clear.” Discovering nothing suspicious, he had turned back again and speedily rejoined the other two.

The fire having completely gone out they were left in entire darkness sitting together on the bank of the Gila.

One of the trappers was short, muscular, with a compact frame, resembling in physique the renowned Kit Carson. His name was George Harling, and he hailed from Missouri, and was a hunter and trapper of a dozen years experience. He was generally mild, quick and genial tempered, but when in the Comanche fight, or when on the trail of some of the daring marauders of the northern tribes, he was a perfect terror, fearless, dashing and heedless of all danger.

The second hunter who hitherto had maintained the principal part of the conversation with Wainwright was a tall, lank, bony individual, restless in manner and sometimes impulsive in speech, was called Ward Lancaster, and seemed to have tramped in every part of the country west of the Mississippi; for you could not mention a tribe of Indians, or a peculiar locality, but what he had been there, and had something interesting to tell about it.

He was about fifty years of age, with not a gray hair in his head, and with as gleaming an eye as he possessed thirty years before, when he first placed his foot on the western bank of the Father of Waters, and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, plunged into the vast wilderness, an eager sharer in the adventures and dangers that awaited him.

Ward was a pleasant, even tempered individual, who, when led into the ambush, and fighting desperately the dusky demons who were swarming around him, did so as cooly and cautiously as he galloped over the billowy prairie. He was one of those individuals who seemed born to act as guide and director for parties traversing those regions, where it seems to a man of ordinary ability, fully a lifetime would be required to gain a comparatively slight knowledge. His instinct was never known to be at fault. When in the midst of the immense arid plains, which stretched away on every hand, until like the ocean it joined the sky; in the centre of these vast tracts, with man and beast famishing for water, and when no one else could see the clue, by which to escape from the dreadful situation, Ward displayed a knowledge or intuition, which to say the least, was extraordinary. Looking up to the brassy sky, and then away to the distant horizon, and then at the parched ground, he would fall into a deep reverie, which would last for a few moments, at the end of which he would start off at a rapid gallop toward some invisible point, and the end of that ride was——water.

When questioned as to the manner by which he acquired this remarkable skill, the trapper never gave a satisfactory answer. He sometimes said it must be that he scented the water; but, as it is well known that this element has no smell, taste or color, although the presence of vegetation, which it causes, and which is nearly always a sign of it, frequently gives out a strong odor, which guides the thirsty animal from a long distance, yet it cannot be supposed for an instant that the hunter acquired his wonderful knowledge in this manner. No human olfactories have ever been known to hold a hundredth part of the delicacy necessary for such an exploit. Ward always smiled rather significantly when he gave such an answer.

It might be that he was really ignorant of the means by which he possessed such a superiority over his fellow creatures in this respect, and which made them only too glad to follow him to any point he indicated, without fear of consequences; or it may be that he had acquired some subtle secret of the “hidden springs” of nature—some knowledge of her means of working—so hidden from human knowledge that they can be reached by no process of reasoning, and are only discovered (which is rarely the case,) by accident.

Such a knowledge, or “gift,” as it is properly termed, is frequently found among the North American Indians—a people whose inability to grasp the simplest truths of art or science, is too well known to need reference here. Some withered old Medicine man, or wrinkled old woman, with her crooning and sorcery, is frequently the depository of a secret in medicines,—of the subtle working in certain forms of disease, of some apparently harmless plant, which when made known to the prying eyes of his pale faced brother, has made his fame and reputation and has given him a name for learning and skill, that has made him the enemy of the whole profession.

How many of the colossal fortunes of the present day have been builded upon the knowledge of some Medicine Man, or some negro woman who has gained a well founded reputation among the ignorant people.

So we say Ward Lancaster may have stumbled upon some secret of nature’s workings, which the jealous dame had carefully veiled from other eyes; and in the presence of this knowledge he never went astray.

The hunter was full of adventures, and could recount his experience by the hour as he sat smoking around the camp fire, at the end of the chase, or at the close of the day’s tramp. He had acted as guide to several expeditions which had crossed the Rocky Mountains into California and Oregon; and, at the present time, he and Harling were looking for a caravan or large emigrant party, which they had been sent from Santa Fe to intercept and guide into Lower California.

Having thus introduced somewhat at length our friends to our readers, we come to speak more particularly of their first meeting. They soon explained each other’s name and destination to each other, when Ward seemed disposed to question Wainwright still further. He thought he saw about the young man signs indicating that he had followed this hunting and trapping business but a comparatively short time. His well shaped hands, had not the brown, hardy character which characterized those of his companions, and the jetty luxuriant beard failed to conceal the rosy-tinted skin, which could never have been retained under the storm and tempest of the prairie.

Wainwright, however, skilfully parried the questions when they came too close, or refused to answer them altogether.

“I belong further east,” said he, “but there are some things which I don’t choose to tell at present. The time may come when I shall be glad to do so, but it hasn’t come yet.”

“All right; that yer is what I call a hint to keep my mouth shet. Howsomever, you’ll allow me to ask another question or two.”

“Certainly, you may ask all you please,” replied the young hunter, with a significant intonation.

“How long have you been on the prairies, and among the mountains?”

“A little over a year.”

“Been with one party of hunters all the time?”

“No; with half a dozen, and once with a party of Indians.”

“Have you learned any thing of the ways of the mountains and prairies in that time?”

“As I expect to be associated with you for some time, I will waive that question for a few months, and then allow you to answer it for yourself.”

“That’s sensible,” grunted Harling, “I’ve only one more question to ax.”

“I am ready to hear it.”

“What brought you out here? A quarrel, love adventure, or what?”

“If any one asks you such a question tell him you are unable to answer it.”

This was a decided reply, and the trapper so accepted it. They had conversed together in low tones, occasionally pausing and listening for any sound of their enemies, but they heard none—nothing breaking the stillness but the solemn flow of the dark river.

“I think,” said Harling, “we had better move our quarters, for these sneaking Comanches can smell a white man, about as far as you can smell water.”

“Yes, what I was a thinkin’ on,” muttered his companion, “Mo when-your-right, or Wainwright, you’ll foller.”

The three began stealing along the bank of the river, frequently pausing and listening, but as yet, hearing nothing suspicious. The sky had cleared somewhat during the last hour, and the clouds which had overspread it after the sun went down, and a number of stars were visible. Still it was very gloomy, the party being barely able to discern a few feet in front of them, as they advanced so stealthily upon their way.

Ward took the lead, his form being faintly visible, as he carefully picked his way, while behind him came Harling, and our hero, the young hunter, brought up the rear. The latter had heard them speak of their horses, and knew of course that they must be the owners of animals, which were so indispensable in this desolate country; but he wondered where they were kept, as he failed to see anything of them.

“However, I shall learn all in due time,” was his conclusion, as they walked leisurely along.

They had progressed in this manner perhaps for a third of a mile, when the leader hastily scrambled up the bank the others following, found themselves on the edge of the prairie, which had witnessed the exciting chase between the Comanches and the young hunter, a few hours before.

By this time the sky had cleared and objects could be seen quite distinctly, for a considerable distance. The three men halted and looked out upon the prairie, but saw nothing but darkness.

“Where are your horses!” inquired Wainwright.

“About a mile from here.”

“Aint you afraid of losing them!”

“Not much; they’re lied where it would take a pair of sharp eyes to find them.”

“But those Comanches——”

“Sh!” interrupted the trapper, “I hear something walking.”

They listened, and the faintest sounds of footfalls could be heard, quite hesitatingly, as if some one were very cautiously approaching them.

“Down!” whispered Ward, sinking silently to the earth, “whoever it is is coming this way.”

The others were not slow in imitating his example, and lying thus upon the ground intently listening, they now and then caught a dull sound, as if made by an Indian carrying a heavy body, with which he retreated, as often as he advanced. A person who had had no experience of prairie life would have failed to hear the sound at all; but all three of our friends heard it distinctly.

Ward Lancaster had detected the direction of the sound, and was peering out on the prairie in the hope of discerning the cause of it. All at once he gave utterance to a suppressed exclamation, and then added, as he turned his head.

“What do you s’pose it is?”

“I am sure I cannot tell,” replied Wainwright.

“It’s a horse, and if I’m not powerful mistaken it’s your own animal; but hold on; don’t rise; it may be a trick of the Comanches to find out where you are.”

The horse steadily advanced until a few feet of the prostrate men, when it pawed and snuffed the air Ward then quietly arose, and before the animal could wheel about, he seized the bridle and held it a prisoner. Wainwright then came up and found that it was his own mustang, with all his accoutrements complete.

“How fortunate!” he exclaimed in pleased surprise, as he examined the saddle and bridle; “every thing seems to be here.”

So it proved, and Wainwright lost no time in putting himself astride of his mustang. Following the direction of his friends, they soon reached a small clump of stunted trees and undergrowth, where the trappers’ horses were found. It was at first proposed that they should encamp here for the night, but, as the Comanches were unquestionably in the vicinity, they concluded to get as far away as possible. So they mounted their animals, and under the leadership of Ward took the river for their guide, and rode at a moderate walk until daylight, by which time they had placed many a long mile between themselves and their dusky enemies.

The hunters scrutinized every suspicious point and took a careful survey of the surrounding prairie and hills, but discovered nothing suspicious, and they concluded that there was nothing further to fear from these wild riders of the plains.

The range of hills was still in sight, and offered a secure hiding place for any of their enemies who chose to conceal themselves there, but if such were the case, the trappers were confident they could detect them, and failing in this they believed themselves justified in coming to the conclusion mentioned.

Ward took his bearings and headed towards a point where he hoped to intercept the emigrant train; but when night came they had not yet reached it, and they encamped in a small grove. Wainwright had brought down an antelope with his rifle, at such a distance as to extort a compliment from the hunters, and thus bountifully provided for supper, they counted upon a pleasant evening.

CHAPTER II.
IN CAMP.

“Come, George, isn’t that steak done yet?” inquired the impatient Lancaster. “It strikes me that it has just got the color to insure a good taste. What do you think Fred?”

“I’m hungry enough to make anything taste good to me, stewed, fried or raw.”

“Now just keep easy,” replied Harling. “When the meat is ready you shall have it—not before—no matter how hungry you are.”

“Woofh!” exclaimed Lancaster, “if I get much hungrier, I’ll eat the meat up and take you by way of dessert. So hurry up, will you?”

Not the least attention did the imperturbable cook pay to the murmurings of those around. He turned the meat around as slowly and carefully as ever, and when it had reached the point when Lancaster declared it was “spoiled” he removed it from its perches, served it into three equal slices, and announced that it was ready.

So it proved—rich, steamy, juicy and tender, so that it fairly melted in their mouths. No sooner did it touch their palates, than they inwardly thanked the cook for resisting their importunities, and furnishing them with such a choice morsel. They thanked him inwardly, we say, but, as might be expected, each took particular good care to say nothing about it.

But Harling saw his advantage and followed it up.

“You’re a couple of purty pups, aint you? Don’t know what’s best for you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d both starve to death.”

“Get out!” replied Lancaster, “let other people brag up your cooking; don’t do it yourself.”

“There’s no one in this crowd got gratitude to thank me after I’ve crammed their mouths for them.”

“Then I wouldn’t do it myself,” laughed Fred Wainwright.

“Yes, I shall too, for it deserves it, and it’s time you learned to say so.”

“Hang it,” cried Lancaster, pretending to have great difficulty in tearing the meat asunder; “if this piece hadn’t been cooked so long, it would be fit for a white man to eat, but as it is, it is enough to tear my teeth out.”

“’Cause you’re making such a pig of yourself. Try and eat like a civilized being, and you’ll find it tender enough for an infant.”

“How do you find it Fred?” turning toward their younger companion.

“I can manage to worry down a little.”

“I should think you could!” was the indignant comment of the cook, as his friends swallowed the last mouthful.

The darkness slowly settled over prairie and mountain, and when the hunters had gorged themselves with meat, so rich and juicy that they could not conceal their delight, they wiped their greasy fingers upon their heads, produced their pipes, lay back and “enjoyed themselves.”

Although in the midst of a hostile country, all three were too experienced to feel any apprehension regarding their safety. This fire had been so skilfully kindled at the bottom of a hollow, so artfully, that a lynx-eyed Apache or Comanche might have stood within a hundred feet of them without suspecting its existence. Their horses, too, had been trained long enough in danger and peril to know the value of silence on a dark night and in a still country; and there was no fear of their discovery by hostile eyes through any indiscretion on their part.

From long exposure to danger, the hunters had acquired a habit of speaking in low tones, and frequently pausing and listening before making responses to a question. When they laughed, no matter how heartily, it was without noise, except out upon the broad prairie, when their cramped up lungs demanded freedom, and then their laugh rang out clear and loud, like the blast of a silver trumpet.

Even as they smoked, the coal in their pipes was invisible. They had a fashion unknown to us of more civilized regions, of sinking the coal or burning part of the pipe below the surface of the tobacco, by a few extra long whiffs, so that, as they leisurely drew upon them afterwards there was no fear of the red points betraying their presence, a thing which has more than once taken place in the early history of our country.

The party drew at their pipes in quiet enjoyment for some time, and then, as the night was pleasant and warm they fell into an easy conversation.

“I wonder whether we shall come upon the caravan tomorrow,” remarked Fred Wainwright, not because he imagined there was any thing particularly brilliant in the remark, but for the same reason that we frequently say a pointless thing—because we can’t think of something better.

“P’raps we shall, and p’raps we shant,” was the non-committal answer of Ward Lancaster.

“You are right for once,” said Harling. “No matter whether we see ’em or not there isn’t much danger of you prophesying wrong.

“But I really think we are somewhere in their vicinity and we shall see something of them tomorrow—some sign at least that will give us an idea of their whereabouts.”

“Are you sure this emigrant train is where it can be found?” asked Fred Wainwright.

“Yes, sir. I said that; I understand it, which is a blamed sight more than either of you two lunkheads could do. The fellow was in earnest about it. Didn’t you see Harling how quick the feller came straight at me, and talked to me like a man whose life depended on his getting my service.”

“Did he go far enough to offer a price?” inquired Harling, rather quizzically.

“Yes, sir,” was the triumphant reply. “He hauled out several yellow boys, and wanted to put them in my hands to seal the bargain.”

“You took ’em, of course?” remarked Fred in a serious tone, but taking advantage of the darkness to grin to an alarming extent.

“No SIR!” was the indignant response. “I told ’em I took money after I’d done a thing—not before. He seemed quite anxious and urged me to take it saying it was a-ahem-a-rainen-strainer.”

“Retainer,” accented Fred.

“Yes; something like that; don’t know what it means, but I told him I did not do business in that way. I axed him all about the company and learned all I wanted, and then told him when it reached ‘Old Man’s Point,’ I’d be thar!”

“How near are we to it?”

“About ten miles off; we’ll ride there before breakfast tomorrow, and take our first meal with the party.”

“What became of their guide?”

“The guide was shot by an Apache Indian two days ago, and the party have been half frightened to death ever since. They declared, if they could not find a guide, they would never enter California; as you can see we’ve good reason to ’spect they’ll be rather glad to have our company.”

“It seems singular that the very man upon whom they relied, and the one who no doubt knew more about the Indians than all the others combined, should be the very first one to fall a victim.”

“How do you know he was the first one?” demanded Ward Lancaster, almost fiercely, as he turned his face toward Fred Wainwright.

“I don’t know it; only imagined it from the remark you made.”

“Well, perhaps he was the first one,” was the complacent remark of the hunter, as he resumed his pipe. “I don’t know neither to the contrary notwithstanding.”

“Then it’s my opinion you’d better keep your mouth shet,” was the comment of Harling. “Them people that don’t know nothing, gain the most credit by saying nothing.”

“That’s the reason you keep mum so much of the time, I ’spose. Wal, that’s right; you ought to know yourself; don’t let me change your habits, because that is a mighty good habit you’ve got.”

“It strikes me it would be a good habit for us all to follow at this time,” suggested Fred Wainwright. “It is getting late, and I feel like going to sleep.”

“Go ahead then,” said Ward.

But the hour was growing late, and shortly after the three hunters were wrapped in profound slumber.

CHAPTER III.
THE COMANCHES AND THEIR PRIZE.

The gray dawn of early morning was just beginning to break over the prairie when the “Trappers of the Gila” were active. Such men are invariably early risers, unless they have been deprived of several night’s rest, and desire to make it entirely up at one stretch.