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.
