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Show 202 THE CALIFORNIA AND OREGON TRAIL. seemed quivering under it. The lodge of our Indian associates was baking in the rays, and our 1·ifles, as they leaned against the tree, were too hot for the touch. There was a dead silence through our camp and all around it, unbroken except by the hum of gnats and 1:nusquitoes. The men, resting their fore. heads on their arms, were sleeping under the cart. The In~ dians kept close within their lodge, except the newly-married pair, who were seated together under an awning of buffalo. robes, and the old conjurer, who with his hard, emaciated face and gaunt ribs was perched aloft like a turkey-buzzard, among the dead branches of an old tree, constantly on the look-out for enem1es. fie would have made a capital shot. A rifle bullet, skilfully planted, would have brought him tumbling to the ground. Surely, I thought, there could be no more harm in shooting such a hideous old villain, to see how ugly he would look when he was dead, than in shooting the detestable vulture which he resembled. We dined, and then Shaw saddled his horse. ' I will ride back,' said he, ' to Horse-Shoe Creek, and see if Bisonotte is there.' 'I would go with you,' I answered, ' but I must reserve all the strength I have.' The afternoon dragged away at last. I occupied myself in cleaning my rifle and pistols, and making other preparations for the journey. After supper, Henry Chatillon and I lay by the fire, discussing the properties of that admirable weapon, the rifle, in the use of which he could fairly out-rival Leatherstock· ing himself. It was late before I wrapped myself in my blanket, and lay down for the night, with my head on my saddle. Shaw had ' HUNTING INDIANS. 203 not returned, but this garve us no uneasiness, for we presumed that he had fallen in with Bisonette, and was spending the night with him. For a day or two past I had gained in strength and health, but about midnight an attack of pain awoke me, and for some hours I felt no inclination to sleep. The moon was quivering on the broad breast of the Platte ; nothing could be heard except those low inexplicable sounds, like whisperings and. footsteps, which no one who has spent the night alone amid deserts and forests will be at a loss to understand. As I was falling asleep, a familiar voice, shouting from the distance, awoke me again. A rapid step approached the camp, and Shaw on foot, with his gun in his hand, hastily entered. 'Where's your horse 1' said I, raising myself on my elbow. 'Lost!' said Shaw. ' Where's Delorier 1' 'There,' I replied, pointing to a confused mass of blankets and buffalo robes. Shaw touched them with the butt of his gun, and up sprang our faithful Canadian. 'Come, Delorier; stir up the fire, and get me something to eat.' 'Where's Bisonette ?' asked I. 'The Lord knows; there's nobody at Horse-Shoe Creek.' Shaw had gone back to the spot where we had encamped two days before, and finding nothing there but the ashes of our fires, he had tied his horse to the tree w bile he bathed in the stream. Something startled his horse, who broke loose, and for two hours Shaw tried in vain to catch him. Sunset approached, and it was twelve miles to camp. So he abandoned the attempt, and set out on foot to join us. The greater oart of |