officers, young and old, and I never yet quarreled with any man. Oh,
'anything for a quiet life!' that's my maxim."

We intimated that the prairie was hardly the place to enjoy a quiet
life, but that, in the present circumstances, the best thing he could
do toward securing his wished-for tranquillity, was immediately to put
a period to the nuisance that disturbed it. But again the captain's
easy good-nature recoiled from the task. The somewhat vigorous measures
necessary to gain the desired result were utterly repugnant to him; he
preferred to pocket his grievances, still retaining the privilege of
grumbling about them. "Oh, anything for a quiet life!" he said again,
circling back to his favorite maxim.

But to glance at the previous history of our transatlantic confederates.
The captain had sold his commission, and was living in bachelor ease
and dignity in his paternal halls, near Dublin. He hunted, fished, rode
steeple-chases, ran races, and talked of his former exploits. He
was surrounded with the trophies of his rod and gun; the walls were
plentifully garnished, he told us, with moose-horns and deer-horns,
bear-skins, and fox-tails; for the captain's double-barreled rifle had
seen service in Canada and Jamaica; he had killed salmon in Nova Scotia,
and trout, by his own account, in all the streams of the three kingdoms.
But in an evil hour a seductive stranger came from London; no less a
person than R., who, among other multitudinous wanderings, had once been
upon the western prairies, and naturally enough was anxious to visit
them again. The captain's imagination was inflamed by the pictures of a
hunter's paradise that his guest held forth; he conceived an ambition
to add to his other trophies the horns of a buffalo, and the claws of
a grizzly bear; so he and R. struck a league to travel in company. Jack
followed his brother, as a matter of course. Two weeks on board the