“What did I tell you?” asked the trapper, as the boys rode up to the wagon, where the latter was unharnessing the mules. “I said you couldn’t shoot a prong-horn.”
“Of course we couldn’t,” answered Archie, “for we didn’t see any to shoot.”
“I know that,” replied the trapper with a grin; “but I seed plenty. The next time you go a huntin’ prong-horns, be sartin that the wind blows from them t’wards you, an’ not from you t’wards them. They’ve got sharp noses, them critters have.”
The boys were astonished. They had not thought of that; and Archie was compelled to acknowledge that “there was something in knowing how, after all.”
[CHAPTER IV.]
The Best Trapper on the Prairie.
THAT night the train encamped a short distance from one of the stations of the Overland Stage Company. The trapper, as usual, after taking care of his mules, superintended the preparations for supper, while the boys, wearied with their day’s ride, threw themselves on the grass near the wagon, and watched his movements with a hungry eye. Uncle James, as he had done almost every night since leaving St. Joseph, walked about the camp playing with the children, who began to regard him as an old acquaintance. Presently the attention of the boys was attracted by the approach of a stranger, whose long beard and thin hair—both as white as snow—bore evidence to the fact that he carried the burden of many years on his shoulders.