rapid strides over the ground, seemingly oblivious of the existence of any one else. I kept beside him, now and then venturing a remark, but receiving no answer or intimation that I was heard.
Suddenly, my friend came to a dead halt, dropped the butt of his rifle to the earth with a ringing clamp, and wheeled upon me with one of those indescribable looks. I had seen these before, so that I knew something unusual was agitating him.
“What’s the trouble now?”
“It’s no use; we’ll never see that company agin.”
“What makes you think thus?”
“I know so. I had a dream last night that my mare was gone for ever and ever, and I know she is. Don’t you remember that fur agent told us they’d change the direction they’s traveling some time yesterday? They hadn’t done it when we left them, and they done it as soon as we got out of sight, I warrant.”
I now remembered hearing our guide remark, as also did the fur agent with us, that the trail we were following made an abrupt bend some miles ahead. We were traveling northeast at that time, and the contemplated change was nearly due southwest. This fact had entirely escaped our minds, until it now occurred to Nat, and we had, consequently, been proceeding in a wrong direction. By referring to the sun, we found we had gone far too much to the east in order to intercept the train, which was now in all probability many leagues to the southwest.
This was a discovery which was overwhelming. We had then been journeying in a direction which had brought us not a foot nearer the company than if we had remained motionless; and it was certain that the party was irrecoverably lost.
“This is a pleasant discovery, Nat.”
“Very.”
“I see no hope for your mare. She is probably a good day’s journey distant, and we do not know what direction to take to reach her.”
“That’s it,” replied Nat, ill-humoredly; “if I knowed sure what way to tramp to find her, I wouldn’t stop till I’d laid my hands on her for a certainty; but this trudging along, and just as like as not going away from her all the time, isn’t the thing.”
“I see no course left then, but to proceed south, in the hope of falling in with some emigrant train, or in striking the Oregon trail, north, and getting into California ahead of them.”
“The Oregon trail will have to be our destination, then. If these fellows find they’ve got the start of us, they won’t give us a chance to come up again, and we might as well try to catch the whirlwind as to follow them. No; we must try the ready for them when they come. How far is the trail off?”
“It can’t be more than a day’s journey; the trail follows the Platte through Nebraska, and I’m pretty sure we can reach it by nightfall, if we proceed pretty steadily and rapidly.”
The day was clear and pleasant, and the sky devoid of the least signs of threatening storm. There were two or three white clouds straggling off in the western horizon, but the sky was of a deep clear blue. We were now proceeding in a northward direction, intending to strike the Platte at the nearest point. South, east, and west the small waving hills of the prairie stretched, unrelieved by the slightest object, except in the west the far-off outline of some mountain-peak was just visible, resembling a slight pointed cloud against the blue sky. This disappeared at noon, and we were again like wanderers upon the illimitable sea. A short time after, Nat’s keen vision detected a number of black, moving specks far to the westward.
“An emigrant train, perhaps,” I suggested.
“They’re Pawnee Injins as sure as the world, and we’d better give them a wide berth.”
“Pawnee Indians! How do you know that? You never have been in this section before?”
“That’s true, but you don’t s’pose I started out here without first larning something ’bout the country and folks, do you? If you do, you’re mighty mistaken. Just let me know in what part of the country we are, and I’ll let you know what sights you will see, that is, if we are going to see any at all. But let’s keep to the east; I don’t want to keep them Pawnees in sight.”
“The Pawnee Indians are reported friendly to the whites.”
“Exactly; but have they been reported honest? If they should come upon us and take a fancy to our rifles, what is there to prevent them from taking them? And,” added Nat, with a shrewd shake of his head. “I’ve not faith enough in their good intentions to want ’em in sight at this particular time.”
There was a great deal of reason in his remarks, and it was not unwillingly that I turned my face more to the northeast, and soon saw them disappear from view.
Some time toward the middle of the afternoon we descried a solitary buffalo ahead. He had apparently left his friends and wandered about as though entirely lost. After considerable difficulty we approached nigh enough to bring him down. He was quite poor, and his flesh was strong and Oregon trail, and get into California first, and be tough; but we were glad enough to get it, such as it was. He was thrown on his face, with his knees bent under him, a keen knife run along the spine with just sufficient force to penetrate the skin, which was then pulled down each side. This done, we cut the choice portions out. Nat reserved the buffalo-skin for his blanket, and the rest was thrown away. We made a hearty meal, and about the middle of the afternoon again set forward, hoping to accomplish quite a distance ere nightfall.
Just at dark we reached a stream of considerable size, which I afterward learned was the Republican Fork of Nebraska. The point at which we struck it, was about where it leaves the territory of Kansas and enters Nebraska. Although no considerable stream, we concluded not to cross it before morning, and we made arrangements for passing the night upon its banks. There was considerable timber at different points, and a goodly quantity of driftwood lay scattered along its banks. As the river was quite low, we gathered several armfuls, and had a fire soon started. We had brought some meat of the slain buffalo with us, but concluded not to cook supper, as our appetites were satiated.
Seated round our fire, half-hidden in a depression in the river bottom, with the dark, glistening stream flowing silently by, and smoking our pipes, we naturally fell into an easy conversation.
“We can’t be far from the ‘trail,’ can we?” asked Nat.
“Farther than I suspected,” I answered. “The Republican Fork, which I am convinced is the stream out there, is over fifty miles from the Platte, which, with several other streams must be crossed before the trail is reached.”
“Fudge! I don’t believe I can head off them fellows after all, and my old mare and overcoat will go to thunder.”
“They will go somewhere where you will never see them again.”
“I know I’m bound to lose ’em, and I shan’t think any more about them.”
“That’s the best plan, Nat. They are no great loss.”
“I sh’d like to know whether that greaser or fur agent took them though,” interrupted my friend, earnestly.
After this he fell into a fit of musing, and we remained silent for some time. When the fire had burnt low, I arose and replenished it. Nat looked anxiously at the roaring blaze, carrying ashes and cinders high in the air, and
