How this agreeable discovery was made
I will presently explain.
One day, after a protracted morning's ride, we stopped to rest at
noon upon the open prairie. No trees were in sight; but close at
hand, a little dribbling brook was twisting from side to side through
a hollow; now forming holes of stagnant water, and now gliding over
the mud in a scarcely perceptible current, among a growth of sickly
bushes, and great clumps of tall rank grass. The day was excessively
hot and oppressive. The horses and mules were rolling on the prairie
to refresh themselves, or feeding among the bushes in the hollow. We
had dined; and Delorier, puffing at his pipe, knelt on the grass,
scrubbing our service of tin plate. Shaw lay in the shade, under the
cart, to rest for a while, before the word should be given to "catch
up." Henry Chatillon, before lying down, was looking about for signs
of snakes, the only living things that he feared, and uttering
various ejaculations of disgust, at finding several suspicious-
looking holes close to the cart. I sat leaning against the wheel in
a scanty strip of shade, making a pair of hobbles to replace those
which my contumacious steed Pontiac had broken the night before. The
camp of our friends, a rod or two distant, presented the same scene
of lazy tranquillity.
"Hallo!" cried Henry, looking up from his inspection of the snake-
holes, "here comes the old captain!"
The captain approached, and stood for a moment contemplating us in
silence.
"I say, Parkman," he began, "look at Shaw there, asleep under the
cart, with the tar dripping off the hub of the wheel on his
shoulder!"
At this Shaw got up, with his eyes half opened, and feeling the part
indicated, he found his hand glued fast to his red flannel shirt.
"He'll look well when he gets among the squaws, won't he?" observed
the captain, with a grin.
He then crawled under the cart, and began to tell stories of which
his stock was inexhaustible. Yet every moment he would glance
nervously at the horses. At last he jumped up in great excitement.
"See that horse! There - that fellow just walking over the hill! By
Jove; he's off. It's your big horse, Shaw; no it isn't, it's Jack's!
Jack! Jack! hallo, Jack!" Jack thus invoked, jumped up and stared
vacantly at us.
"Go and catch your horse, if you don't want to lose him!" roared the
captain.
Jack instantly set off at a run through the grass, his broad
pantaloons flapping about his feet.
