the workshop. They had secured the services of an experienced guide, and were well equipped for the perilous journey before them.
The overland route, at this time, was so alive with passing emigrants, that few depredations were committed by the Indians. The savages sometimes hung around companies, but as there were almost always other whites in sight, they rarely ventured upon any greater crime than pilfering. Nothing worthy of note occurred upon the journey for a length of time. We experienced the usual mishaps and trials of emigrants, but nothing more startling. We sometimes lost a part of our baggage and provisions in crossing the rivers, and were greatly discomforted by the terrific storms which often rage in these regions. Then, again, we traveled mile after mile, and hour after hour upon the dry, monotonous, glistening rolling prairie, so wearied and tired of the scene that we hardly exchanged a syllable for hours at a stretch.
At last, the plains of Kansas were reached. On the day in which I introduce my friend and myself to notice, we had descried a solitary antelope at a great distance upon the prairie, and set out to bring it down. We left our horses behind, hoping to reach the animal by stratagem. I approached it near enough to wound it, when it made off with the speed of the wind. Expecting to see it give out each moment, we followed it mile after mile, until gathering darkness warned us that night was at hand, when we halted in alarm, and were compelled to allow the antelope to escape, while we endeavored to retrace our steps. The caravan was nowhere in sight, and we doubted not that it had disappeared hours before. We left the train about noon, and had been warned that they would not halt or wait for us, and should we lose them, they would take no pains to hunt us up. But we heeded not this, as we expected to keep them constantly in view, and have the antelope cooked for our supper.
But I have shown how widely we were mistaken. We were compelled to see the night shut down around us, without bringing us any hope of spending it with our friends; and at a late hour we were still plodding aimlessly over the prairie.
“No light yet, Nat?” I asked, for the twentieth time.
“Well, I should think you had asked that question about often enough, to be suited with my answer.”
“I expect to ask it a dozen times more.”
“Then I’ll just answer at once for all, so I won’t be troubled agin with talkin’. No! there’s the answer.”
“I don’t know but what you are right, Nat. We must have come a long distance, utterly unconscious of it, in our eagerness to get that plaguey antelope, and it is useless to hope to reach camp again before morning.”
“That’s my opinion, exactly. That camp, I opine, is a good dozen miles off yet.”
“Then we may have a chance of reaching it still before morning, as this bright moon favors us.”
The moon, full and clear, had arisen an hour before, and its light illumined the prairie for a great distance around. Far away, on every hand, we could discern the blue outline of the horizon, while the prairie seemed to roll up against it like the dark boundaries of a mighty ocean. Everything was as silent and motionless as though we were treading a region of death.
Mile after mile, we trudged on, beguiling the time by conversation. The ground was dry and hard, and the vegetation scarce and stunted. The day had been quite warm, and there was a delicious coolness about the evening air that made it pleasant to walk an hour or so; but as more than double that time had expired since we commenced, it had long been exceedingly wearisome to us.
“I wonder whether those fellows will go a foot out of the way to pick us up,” muttered Nat, half to himself.
“I don’t believe they will. They told us they wouldn’t and they value their time too highly to waste it for a couple who are of no account to them, especially since we can fall in with other trains.”
“I reckon they’re of some account to us, being they have got both our horses and considerable of our traveling apparatus.”
“That is too true, Nat. In fact, since we have been walking here, I have persuaded myself that those fellows would, just as likely as not, turn something out of the way to get rid of us.”
“Somehow or other, I’ve felt just the same for a week.”
“Then, if we value our property, we mustn’t let them slip.”
“No; I’ll be shot, if we must!” exclaimed Nat, half angrily, striking at once into a more rapid walk. “If they run off with my mare, I’ll—I’ll—” and again he strode faster over the prairie.
Long—long, we journeyed in silence. Nat’s apprehensions had been aroused, and he was willing to walk the whole night to come up with those in whose honesty he had so little faith. Now and then he would mutter incoherently to himself and shoot ahead, keeping me almost on a run to maintain my place beside him. Suddenly he halted, and turned upon me with an expression I shall never forget. I could see his eyes expanded to twice their usual size, and his whole face aglow beneath his monstrous hat, as he asked in a cold whisper:
“Wonder if there’s Injins about to-night.”
I laughed outright.
“Why, Nat, you ain’t afraid, are you?”
“Who said I was afraid? I just asked a question.”
“What possessed you to ask such a question?”
“Don’t know; just come into my mind. Do you s’pose there are any Injins roving round the country to-night?”
“I am sure I cannot tell, but I think it extremely probable. Are you fearful that there are some upon our trail?”
“There might be! No; I was thinking if we should come across any of them, they might be able to tell us whether any of them chaps think we’re lost, and have run off with my mare.”
“Should we meet a lot of those savages, no doubt they would tell us something else besides that.”
“I expect so,” and he wheeled around and strode ahead again. It was now getting near midnight, and I was completely worn out. It was out of the question to reach the camp that night, and we might as well submit to our fate at once, so I spoke rather decidedly.
“I’m tired of this.”
Nat turned and looked at me a second, and then answered:
“So am I. We’ve to camp out to-night, and there’s no use in waiting till morning afore we do it. Ain’t it lucky you brought your blanket with you? It would go hard to do without that to-night.”
“I brought it with me by merest chance, not thinking I should need it. It was indeed fortunate; and now let us prepare to use it.”
There was not much choice on the hard but warm earth. My blanket was ample and sufficient for us both. After some search, a small depression was selected, and in this I spread my heavy blanket. We then stretched ourselves upon it, pulled the ends over us, being sure to inclose our rifles in its folds, and resigned ourselves to sleep. In that lone hour, I forgot not that there was one arm upon which I could rely, and One only who could watch over me until morning, and to that protection I appealed.
Ere the sun was fairly above the horizon, we were up and upon our way.
