his cup. Add to this, that all the morning the hot sun beats upon him
with sultry, penetrating heat, and that, with provoking regularity, at
about four o'clock in the afternoon, a thunderstorm rises and drenches
him to the skin. Such being the charms of this favored region, the
reader will easily conceive the extent of our gratification at learning
that for a week we had been journeying on the wrong track! How this
agreeable discovery was made I will presently explain.

One day, after a protracted morning's ride, we stopped to rest at noon
upon the open prairie. No trees were in sight; but close at hand, a
little dribbling brook was twisting from side to side through a hollow;
now forming holes of stagnant water, and now gliding over the mud in a
scarcely perceptible current, among a growth of sickly bushes, and great
clumps of tall rank grass. The day was excessively hot and oppressive.
The horses and mules were rolling on the prairie to refresh themselves,
or feeding among the bushes in the hollow. We had dined; and Delorier,
puffing at his pipe, knelt on the grass, scrubbing our service of tin
plate. Shaw lay in the shade, under the cart, to rest for a while,
before the word should be given to "catch up." Henry Chatillon, before
lying down, was looking about for signs of snakes, the only living
things that he feared, and uttering various ejaculations of disgust,
at finding several suspicious-looking holes close to the cart. I sat
leaning against the wheel in a scanty strip of shade, making a pair of
hobbles to replace those which my contumacious steed Pontiac had
broken the night before. The camp of our friends, a rod or two distant,
presented the same scene of lazy tranquillity.

"Hallo!" cried Henry, looking up from his inspection of the snake-holes,
"here comes the old captain!"