Before sunrise on the next morning our tent was down; we harnessed our
best horses to the cart and left the camp. But first we shook hands
with our friends the emigrants, who sincerely wished us a safe journey,
though some others of the party might easily have been consoled had we
encountered an Indian war party on the way. The captain and his brother
were standing on the top of a hill, wrapped in their plaids, like
spirits of the mist, keeping an anxious eye on the band of horses below.
We waved adieu to them as we rode off the ground. The captain replied
with a salutation of the utmost dignity, which Jack tried to imitate;
but being little practiced in the gestures of polite society, his effort
was not a very successful one.

In five minutes we had gained the foot of the hills, but here we came to
a stop. Old Hendrick was in the shafts, and being the very incarnation
of perverse and brutish obstinacy, he utterly refused to move. Delorier
lashed and swore till he was tired, but Hendrick stood like a rock,
grumbling to himself and looking askance at his enemy, until he saw a
favorable opportunity to take his revenge, when he struck out under the
shaft with such cool malignity of intention that Delorier only escaped
the blow by a sudden skip into the air, such as no one but a Frenchman
could achieve. Shaw and he then joined forces, and lashed on both sides
at once. The brute stood still for a while till he could bear it no
longer, when all at once he began to kick and plunge till he threatened
the utter demolition of the cart and harness. We glanced back at the
camp, which was in full sight. Our companions, inspired by emulation,
were leveling their tents and driving in their cattle and horses.

"Take the horse out," said I.