[CHAPTER II.]
The Wagon Train.
ON awaking the next morning, the boys found themselves surrounded by new scenes. While they were dressing, they looked out at the window, and obtained their first view of a wagon train, which was just starting out for the prairie. The wagons were protected by canvas covers, some drawn by oxen, others by mules, and the entire train being accompanied by men both on foot and on horseback. Fat, sleek cows followed meekly after the wagons, from behind whose covering peeped the faces of women and children—the families of the hardy pioneers now on their way to find new homes amid the solitude of that western region.
The boys watched the train until it disappeared, and then went down stairs to get their breakfast. Uncle James was not to be found. In fact, ever since leaving Portland, he seemed to have forgotten his promise to his brother, for he never bothered his head about his nephews. It is true, he had watched them rather closely at the beginning of the journey, but soon discovered that they were fully capable of taking care of themselves and the trapper besides. He did not make his appearance until nearly two hours after the boys had finished their breakfast, and then he rode up to the hotel mounted on a large, raw-boned, ugly-looking horse. He was followed by the trapper, who was seated in a covered wagon, drawn by a span of mules, while behind the wagon were two more horses, saddled and bridled.
“Now, then, boys,” said Uncle James, as he dismounted and tied his horse to a post, “where’s your baggage? We’re going with that train that went out this morning.”
“An’ here, youngsters,” exclaimed Dick, as he climbed down out of his wagon, “come an’ take your pick of these two hosses. This one,” he continued, pointing to a small, gray horse, which stood impatiently pawing the ground and tossing his head—“this feller is young and foolish yet. He don’t know nothin’ ’bout the prairy or buffaler huntin’; an’ if whoever gets him should undertake to shoot a rifle while on his back, he would land him on the ground quicker nor lightnin’. I ’spect I shall have to larn him a few lessons. But this one”—laying his hand on the other horse, which stood with his head down and his eyes closed, as if almost asleep—“he’s an ole buffaler hunter. The feller that your uncle bought him of has jest come in from the mountains. He can travel wusser nor a steamboat if you want him to, an’ you can leave him on the prairy any whar an’ find him when you come back. Now, youngster,” he added, turning to Frank, “which’ll you have?”
“I have no choice,” replied Frank. “Which one do you want, Archie?”
“Well,” replied the latter, “I’d rather have the buffalo hunter. He looks as though he hadn’t spirit enough to throw a fellow off, but that gray looks rather vicious.”