While The Frequent Laugh Told
That The Rough Joke Or Merry Story Was Going On.
In the middle of
the camp, before the principal lodge, sat the two chieftains,
Captain Bonneville and White Plume, in soldier-like communion,
the captain delighted with the opportunity of meeting on social
terms with one of the red warriors of the wilderness, the
unsophisticated children of nature.
The latter was squatted on
his buffalo robe, his strong features and red skin glaring in the
broad light of a blazing fire, while he recounted astounding
tales of the bloody exploits of his tribe and himself in their
wars with the Pawnees; for there are no old soldiers more given
to long campaigning stories than Indian "braves."
The feuds of White Plume, however, had not been confined to the
red men; he had much to say of brushes with bee hunters, a class
of offenders for whom he seemed to cherish a particular
abhorrence. As the species of hunting prosecuted by these
worthies is not laid down in any of the ancient books of venerie,
and is, in fact, peculiar to our western frontier, a word or two
on the subject may not be unacceptable to the reader.
The bee hunter is generally some settler on the verge of the
prairies; a long, lank fellow, of fever and ague complexion,
acquired from living on new soil, and in a hut built of green
logs. In the autumn, when the harvest is over, these; frontier
settlers form parties of two or three, and prepare for a bee
hunt.
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