CHAPTER VI.

The great prairies of the far west

A remarkable colony
discovered, and a miserable night endured

Of all the hours of the night or day the hour that

succeeds the dawn is the purest, the most joyous,

and the best. At least so think we, and so think hundreds

and thousands of the human family. And so

thought Dick Varley, as he sprang suddenly into a

sitting posture next morning, and threw his arms with

an exulting feeling of delight round the neck of Crusoe,

who instantly sat up to greet him.

This was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part

of Dick; but the dog received it with marked satisfaction,

rubbed his big hairy cheek against that of his

young master, and arose from his sedentary position in

order to afford free scope for the use of his tail.

"Ho! Joe Blunt! Henri! Up, boys, up! The sun

will have the start o' us. I'll catch the nags."

So saying Dick bounded away into the woods, with

Crusoe gambolling joyously at his heels. Dick soon

caught his own horse, and Crusoe caught Joe's. Then

the former mounted and quickly brought in the other

two.

Returning to the camp he found everything packed

and ready to strap on the back of the pack-horse.

"That's the way to do it, lad," cried Joe. "Here,

Henri, look alive and git yer beast ready. I do believe

ye're goin' to take another snooze!"

Henri was indeed, at that moment, indulging in a

gigantic stretch and a cavernous yawn; but he finished

both hastily, and rushed at his poor horse as if he intended

to slay it on the spot. He only threw the saddle

on its back, however, and then threw himself on the

saddle.

"Now then, all ready?"

"Ay"--"Oui, yis!"

And away they went at full stretch again on their

journey.

Thus day after day they travelled, and night after

night they laid them down to sleep under the trees of

the forest, until at length they reached the edge of the

Great Prairie.

It was a great, a memorable day in the life of Dick

Varley, that on which he first beheld the prairie--the

vast boundless prairie. He had heard of it, talked of

it, dreamed about it, but he had never--no, he had

never realized it. 'Tis always thus. Our conceptions

of things that we have not seen are almost invariably

wrong. Dick's eyes glittered, and his heart swelled, and

his cheeks flushed, and his breath came thick and quick.

"There it is," he gasped, as the great rolling plain

broke suddenly on his enraptured gaze; "that's it--oh!--"

Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to

the fiercest chief of the Pawnees, and being unable to

utter another word, he swung his cap in the air and

sprang like an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean

of grass. The sun had just risen to send a flood of

golden glory over the scene, the horses were fresh, so

the elder hunters, gladdened by the beauty of all around

them, and inspired by the irresistible enthusiasm of

their young companion, gave the reins to the horses and

flew after him. It was a glorious gallop, that first

headlong dash over the boundless prairie of the "far

west."

The prairies have often been compared, most justly,

to the ocean. There is the same wide circle of space

bounded on all sides by the horizon; there is the same

swell, or undulation, or succession of long low unbroken

waves that marks the ocean when it is calm; they are

canopied by the same pure sky, and swept by the same

untrammelled breezes. There are islands, too--clumps

of trees and willow-bushes--which rise out of this

grassy ocean to break and relieve its uniformity; and

these vary in size and numbers as do the isles of ocean,

being numerous in some places, while in others they are

so scarce that the traveller does not meet one in a long

day's journey. Thousands of beautiful flowers decked

the greensward, and numbers of little birds hopped

about among them.

"Now, lads," said Joe Blunt, reining up, "our troubles

begin to-day."

"Our troubles?--our joys, you mean!" exclaimed

Dick Varley.

"P'r'aps I don't mean nothin' o' the sort," retorted

Joe. "Man wos never intended to swaller his joys

without a strong mixtur' o' troubles. I s'pose he couldn't stand 'em

pure.

Ye see we've got to the prairie now--"

"One blind hoss might see dat!" interrupted Henri.

"An' we may or may not diskiver buffalo. An'

water's scarce, too, so we'll need to look out for it pretty

sharp, I guess, else we'll lose our horses, in which case

we may as well give out at once. Besides, there's

rattlesnakes about in sandy places, we'll ha' to look out

for them; an' there's badger holes, we'll need to look

sharp for them lest the horses put their feet in 'em; an'

there's Injuns, who'll look out pretty sharp for

they once get wind that we're in them parts."

"Oui, yis, mes boys; and there's rain, and tunder, and

lightin'," added Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which

was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them.

"It'll be rain," remarked Joe; "but there's no thunder

in the air jist now. We'll make for yonder clump

o' bushes and lay by till it's past."

Turning a little to the right of the course they had

been following, the hunters galloped along one of the

hollows between the prairie waves before mentioned, in

the direction of a clump of willows. Before reaching

it, however, they passed over a bleak and barren plain

where there was neither flower nor bird. Here they

were suddenly arrested by a most extraordinary sight--at

least it was so to Dick Varley, who had never seen

the like before. This was a colony of what Joe called

"prairie-dogs." On first beholding them Crusoe uttered

a sort of half growl, half bark of surprise, cocked his

tail and ears, and instantly prepared to charge; but he

glanced up at his master first for permission. Observing

that his finger and his look commanded "silence," he

dropped his tail at once and stepped to the rear. He

did not, however, cease to regard the prairie-dogs with

intense curiosity.

These remarkable little creatures have been egregiously

misnamed by the hunters of the west, for they

bear not the slightest resemblance to dogs, either in formation

or habits. They are, in fact, the marmot, and in

size are little larger than squirrels, which animals they

resemble in some degree. They burrow under the light

soil, and throw it up in mounds like moles.

Thousands of them were running about among their

dwellings when Dick first beheld them; but the moment

they caught sight of the horsemen rising over the ridge

they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation.

Each little beast instantly mounted guard on the top of

his house, and prepared, as it were, "to receive cavalry."

The most ludicrous thing about them was that, although

the most timid and cowardly creatures in the

world, they seemed the most impertinent things that

ever lived! Knowing that their holes afforded them a

perfectly safe retreat, they sat close beside them; and as

the hunters slowly approached, they elevated their heads,

wagged their little tails, showed their teeth, and chattered

at them like monkeys. The nearer they came the

more angry and furious did the prairie-dogs become,

until Dick Varley almost fell off his horse with suppressed

laughter. They let the hunters come close up,

waxing louder and louder in their wrath; but the instant

a hand was raised to throw a stone or point a

gun, a thousand little heads dived into a thousand holes,

and a thousand little tails wriggled for an instant in

the air--then a dead silence reigned over the deserted

scene.

"Bien, them's have dive into de bo'-els of de eart',"

said Henri with a broad grin.

Presently a thousand noses appeared, and nervously

disappeared, like the wink of an eye. Then they appeared

again, and a thousand pair of eyes followed.

Instantly, like Jack in the box, they were all on the top

of their hillocks again, chattering and wagging their

little tails as vigorously as ever. You could not say

that you

saw

them jump out of their holes. Suddenly,

as if by magic, they

were

out; then Dick tossed up his

arms, and suddenly, as if by magic, they were gone!

Their number was incredible, and their cities were

full of riotous activity. What their occupations were

the hunters could not ascertain, but it was perfectly

evident that they visited a great deal and gossiped

tremendously, for they ran about from house to house,

and sat chatting in groups; but it was also observed

that they never went far from their own houses. Each

seemed to have a circle of acquaintance in the immediate

neighbourhood of his own residence, to which in case of

sudden danger he always fled.

But another thing about these prairie-dogs (perhaps,

considering their size, we should call them prairie-doggies), another

thing

about them, we say, was that

each doggie lived with an owl, or, more correctly, an

owl lived with each doggie! This is such an extraordinary

fact

that we could scarce hope that men would

believe us, were our statement not supported by dozens

of trustworthy travellers who have visited and written

about these regions. The whole plain was covered with

these owls. Each hole seemed to be the residence of an

owl and a doggie, and these incongruous couples lived

together apparently in perfect harmony.

We have not been able to ascertain from travellers

why

the owls have gone to live with these doggies, so

we beg humbly to offer our own private opinion to the

reader. We assume, then, that owls find it absolutely

needful to have holes. Probably prairie-owls cannot dig

holes for themselves. Having discovered, however, a

race of little creatures that could, they very likely determined

to take forcible possession of the holes made

by them. Finding, no doubt, that when they did so

the doggies were too timid to object, and discovering,

moreover, that they were sweet, innocent little creatures,

the owls resolved to take them into partnership,

and so the thing was settled--that's how it came about,

no doubt of it!

There is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes

also; but we cannot certify our reader of the truth of

this. Still it is well to be acquainted with a report that

is current among the men of the backwoods. If it be

true, we are of opinion that the doggie's family is the

most miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of--or,

as Henri said, in the bo'-els of the earth.

Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in

watching these curious little creatures that they did not

observe the rapid spread of the black clouds over the

sky. A few heavy drops of rain now warned them to

seek shelter, so wheeling round they dashed off at full

speed for the clump of willows, which they gained just

as the rain began to descend in torrents.

"Now, lads, do it slick. Off packs and saddles," cried

Joe Blunt, jumping from his horse. "I'll make a hut

for ye, right off."

"A hut, Joe! what sort o' hut can ye make here?"

inquired Dick.

"Ye'll see, boy, in a minute."

"Ach! lend me a hand here, Dick; de bockle am

tight as de hoss's own skin. Ah! dere all right."

"Hallo! what's this?" exclaimed Dick, as Crusoe

advanced with something in his mouth. "I declare, it's

a bird o' some sort."

"A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the

bird at Dick's feet; "capital for supper."

"Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I

vill clap you."

But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe

and Dick formed a sort of beehive-looking hut by

bending down the stems of a tall bush and thrusting

their points into the ground. Over this they threw the

largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground

below it, on which they laid their packs of goods.

These they further secured against wet by placing

several robes over them and a skin of parchment. Then

they sat down on this pile to rest, and consider what

should be done next.

"'Tis a bad look-out," said Joe, shaking his head.

"I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone.

Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking

up at the sky, which was now of a uniform watery gray,

while black clouds drove athwart it. The rain was

pouring in torrents, and the wind began to sweep it in

broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight covering,

so that in a short time they were wet to the skin.

The horses stood meekly beside them, with their tails

and heads equally pendulous; and Crusoe sat before his

master, looking at him with an expression that seemed

to say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you were to

try?"

"This'll never do. I'll try to git up a fire," said

Dick, jumping up in desperation.

"Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe

dryly--at least as dryly as was possible in the circumstances.

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Everything

was soaked and saturated. There were no large

trees; most of the bushes were green, and the dead ones

were soaked. The coverings were slobbery, the skins

they sat on were slobbery, the earth itself was slobbery;

so Dick threw his blanket (which was also slobbery)

round his shoulders, and sat down beside his companions

to grin and bear it. As for Joe and Henri, they were

old hands and accustomed to such circumstances. From

the first they had resigned themselves to their fate, and

wrapping their wet blankets round them sat down, side

by side, wisely to endure the evils that they could not

cure.

There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know

not, and it matters little, which runs thus,--

"For every evil under the sun

There is a remedy--or there's none.

If there is--try and find it;

If there isn't--never mind it!"

There is deep wisdom here in small compass. The

principle involved deserves to be heartily recommended.

Dick never heard of the lines, but he knew the principle

well, so he began to "never mind it" by sitting down

beside his companions and whistling vociferously. As

the wind rendered this a difficult feat, he took to singing

instead. After that he said, "Let's eat a bite, Joe,

and then go to bed."

"Be all means," said Joe, who produced a mass of

dried deer's meat from a wallet.

"It's cold grub," said Dick, "and tough."

But the hunters' teeth were sharp and strong, so they

ate a hearty supper and washed it down with a drink

of rain water collected from a pool on the top of their

hut. They now tried to sleep, for the night was advancing,

and it was so dark that they could scarce see

their hands when held up before their faces. They sat

back to back, and thus, in the form of a tripod, began

to snooze. Joe's and Henri's seasoned frames would

have remained stiff as posts till morning; but Dick's

body was young and pliant, so he hadn't been asleep a

few seconds when he fell forward into the mud and

effectually awakened the others. Joe gave a grunt,

and Henri exclaimed, "Hah!" but Dick was too sleepy

and miserable to say anything. Crusoe, however, rose

up to show his sympathy, and laid his wet head on his

master's knee as he resumed his place. This catastrophe

happened three times in the space of an hour, and by

the third time they were all awakened up so thoroughly

that they gave up the attempt to sleep, and amused

each other by recounting their hunting experiences and

telling stories. So engrossed did they become that day

broke sooner than they had expected, and just in proportion

as the gray light of dawn rose higher into the

eastern sky did the spirits of these weary men rise

within their soaking bodies.