Leaving the camp we
rode straight over the prairie toward the white-faced bluff, whose
pale ridges swelled gently against the horizon, like a cloud. An
Indian went with us, whose name I forget, though the ugliness of his
face and the ghastly width of his mouth dwell vividly in my
recollection. The antelope were numerous, but we did not heed them.
We rode directly toward our destination, over the arid plains and
barren hills, until, late in the afternoon, half spent with heat,
thirst, and fatigue, we saw a gladdening sight; the long line of
trees and the deep gulf that mark the course of Laramie Creek.
Passing through the growth of huge dilapidated old cottonwood trees
that bordered the creek, we rode across to the other side.
The rapid and foaming waters were filled with fish playing and
splashing in the shallows. As we gained the farther bank, our horses
turned eagerly to drink, and we, kneeling on the sand, followed their
example. We had not gone far before the scene began to grow
familiar.
"We are getting near home, Raymond," said I.
There stood the Big Tree under which we had encamped so long; there
were the white cliffs that used to look down upon our tent when it
stood at the bend of the creek; there was the meadow in which our
horses had grazed for weeks, and a little farther on, the prairie-dog
village where I had beguiled many a languid hour in persecuting the
unfortunate inhabitants.
"We are going to catch it now," said Raymond, turning his broad,
vacant face up toward the sky.
In truth, the landscape, the cliffs and the meadow, the stream and
the groves were darkening fast. Black masses of cloud were swelling
up in the south, and the thunder was growling ominously.
"We will camp here," I said, pointing to a dense grove of trees lower
down the stream. Raymond and I turned toward it, but the Indian
stopped and called earnestly after us. When we demanded what was the
matter, he said that the ghosts of two warriors were always among
those trees, and that if we slept there, they would scream and throw
stones at us all night, and perhaps steal our horses before morning.
Thinking it as well to humor him, we left behind us the haunt of
these extraordinary ghosts, and passed on toward Chugwater, riding at
full gallop, for the big drops began to patter down. Soon we came in
sight of the poplar saplings that grew about the mouth of the little
stream. We leaped to the ground, threw off our saddles, turned our
horses loose, and drawing our knives, began to slash among the bushes
to cut twigs and branches for making a shelter against the rain.
