In the caravan were a couple of fine milch cows which, although they had traveled all the way from the States were in good condition and gave excellent milk. When a large pitcher of the cool delightful liquid was placed before the hungry horsemen, their eyes expanded in amazement; but neither Mr. Doolittle nor Mr. Birchem uttered a syllable, except when Swipes asked them whether it was not splendid, whereupon they replied with a grunt and nod of the head.
“Well, I swan if it doesn’t beat all I ever seed or heerd tell on. That’s the first drop of decent milk I’ve tasted since leaving Connecticut,” said he, addressing the elderly woman who was acting the part of a waiter. “We had some in Santa Fe, but it couldn’t begin with this.”
At this point, Swipes poured out a large cup-full, and slowly drank off its contents, gradually lifting the cup until it was inverted over his face thrown back so far as to be horizontal. In this position, he held it for some time until sure the last drop had descended into his mouth, when he lowered it again with a great sigh and a prolonged—“A——hem!”
“But that is splendid now! splendid, by jingo! if it isn’t. When I had that up to my mouth, I just shut my eyes, and there! I was back in Connecticut agin, a sitting under the old mulberry tree, at noon, after we have been mowing hay, and was taking our lunch! Ah! I was a boy again.”
While the hunters were eating, most of the emigrants were consulting together, making the arrangements for the day’s journey, and debating the proposition, the Yankee had made for some of them to join in the pursuit of the thieving Comanches.
Fred Wainwright, feeling somewhat interested in Swipes, sauntered slowly toward him, and took a seat on the ground near the party, while they ate, that he might relieve his depression of spirit somewhat by conversing with the quaint New Englander, who, as has been seen was more disposed to be loquacious than anything else.
“I say Mr.——also Mr.——what did you tell me was your name?” remarked the latter, as he suddenly cast his eyes toward the young hunter.
“Wainwright.”
“I say, Mr. Wainwright, you belong to them trappers; don’t you?”
“Yes.”