upon any question, it is usually received with respect by the others. Such is the secret influence of intellect and education.
Next and last, we have François, a quick-witted, curly-haired urchin – merry to madness – cheerful at all times – changeable in his tastes and likings – versatile in talents – in short, more of a Frenchman than any of them. François is a great bird-catcher. He is at this moment engaged in repairing his nets; and his double-barrel shot gun, which he has just finished cleaning, rests beside him. François is a favourite with everybody, but a great pest to Hugot, upon whom he plays numerous tricks.
While the naturalist and his family were thus engaged, a loud booming noise was heard at some distance off, down the river. It somewhat resembled the regular firing of great guns, though the explosions sounded softer and more hollow.
“A steamboat!” cried François, whose ear first caught the sounds.
“Yes,” muttered Basil, “from New Orleans, I expect, and bound to Saint Louis.”
“No, brother,” said Lucien, quietly raising himself from his book. “She is an Ohio boat.”
“How can you tell that, Luce?” inquired François.
“From the sound of her ’scape, of course. I can distinguish the boat. She is the ‘Buck-eye’ – mail-boat for Cincinnati.”
In a short time the white cloud of steam was seen ascending over the trees; and then the huge vessel came “bulging” around a bend of the river, cleaving the brown current as she went. She was soon opposite the lawn; and, sure enough, proved to be what Lucien had said she was – the mail-steamer “Buck-eye.” This was a triumph for Lucien, although he bore it with characteristic modesty.
The boat had not passed many minutes, when the loud screeching of her steam was heard in the direction of Point Coupée. They could tell from this that she was putting in at the landing.
“Hugot!” cried the Colonel, “their may be something for us. Go and see.”
Without waiting for further orders, Hugot started on his errand. He was a brisk walker, Hugot; and was back again in a trice. He brought with him a letter of goodly size and appearance.
“From Prince Lucien!” cried François, who was sure to have the first word in everything. “It is from the Prince, papa; I know the seal.”
“Quiet, François! quiet!” said his father, reprovingly; at the same time hobbling into the verandah, and calling for his spectacles.
The letter was soon opened, and perused.
“Hugot!” cried the Colonel, after he had finished reading it.
Hugot made no reply, but threw himself in front of his master, with his hand raised to his eyebrows à la militaire.
“Hugot, you must go to Saint Louis.”
“Bien, mon Colonel!”
“You must start by the first boat.”
“Très-bien, mon Colonel!”
“You must procure for me the skin of a white buffalo.”
“That will not be difficult, monsieur.”
“More difficult than you imagine, I fear.”
“With money, monsieur?”
“Ay, even with money, Hugot. Look you! It is a skin I want – not a robe – but a perfect skin with the head, feet, and all complete, and fit for stuffing.”
“Ah! mon Colonel! that is different.”
“Ah! you may say so. I fear it will be difficult, indeed,” soliloquised the Colonel, with a thoughtful air. “I very much doubt whether we can get it at all; but it must be had, cost what it may– ay, cost what it may.”
“I will do my best, Colonel.”
“Try at every fur-store in Saint Louis, – inquire among the hunters and trappers – you know where to find them. If these fail you, put an advertisement in the newspapers – advertise both in English and French. Go to Monsieur Choteau – anywhere. Spare no expense, but get me the skin.”
“Restez tranquille, mon Colonel; I shall do all that.”
“Make ready, then, to start. There may be a steamer going up before night. Hush! I hear one this very moment. It may be a Saint Louis boat.”
All stood for a moment silent and listening. The ’scape of another boat coming up the river could be heard plain enough.
“It is a Saint Louis boat,” said Lucien. “It is the ‘Belle of the West.’”
Lucien, who had a quick talent in that way, could tell, by the sound of their steam-pipe, almost every boat that plied upon the Mississippi. In half-an-hour the steamer hove in sight, and it was seen that he had again guessed correctly. It was a Saint Louis boat, and the “Belle of the West,” too!
Hugot had not many preparations to make; and before the boat had arrived opposite to the house, he had arranged everything – received some further instructions, with a purse of money, from his master – and was off to Point Coupée, to meet the steamer at the landing.
Chapter Four.
Going on a Great Hunt
It was full three weeks before Hugot returned. They were a long three weeks to the old Colonel, – who was troubled with apprehensions that Hugot would not succeed in his errand. He had written in reply to the letter of Prince Bonaparte. He had written promising to procure —if possible– a white buffalo-skin – for this was what the Prince’s letter was about; – and not for half what he was worth would the Colonel have failed to accomplish this object. No wonder, then, he was impatient and uneasy during Hugot’s absence.
Hugot returned at length, after night. The Colonel did not wait until he entered the house, but met him at the door, candle in hand. He need not have put any question, as Hugot’s face answered that question before it was asked. The moment the light fell upon it, any one could have told that Hugot had come back without the skin. He looked quite crest-fallen; and his great moustachios appeared bleached and drooping.
“You have not got it?” interrogated the Colonel, in a faltering voice.
“No, Colonel,” muttered Hugot, in reply.
“You tried everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
“You advertised in the papers?”
“In all the papers, monsieur.”
“You offered a high price?”
“I did. It was to no purpose. I could not have procured a white buffalo’s skin if I had offered ten times as much. I could not have got it for a thousand dollars.”
“I would give five thousand!”
“It would have been all the same, monsieur. It is not to be had in Saint Louis.”
“What
