“No doubt those articles will be very acceptable to the Indian, who will be delighted to get his horse back again,” said the major. “But I can mount you for this hunt. I’ll give you Gipsy. She is a beautiful rider, and as gentle as a kitten. She is pretty fast, too, but when you are in the chase you’ll have to look out for her. She is not as sure-footed as your last pony, and if you should happen to get into a prairie-dog’s nest she might break her legs, and your neck into the bargain. While you are gone I’ll make every effort to recover your horse, but you mustn’t be disappointed if I fail.”
Supper over, Oscar went into his room to get ready for the start. When he came out again he carried his heavy Sharpe’s rifle on his shoulder, a pair of saddle-bags, containing a few necessary articles, over his arm, and a belt filled with cartridges was buckled about his waist.
The other members of the party were waiting for him on the parade-ground. There were six of them in all, not counting the soldier who was to drive the wagon in which the tents and other camp equipage was stowed away, and the Osage guide, who sat on his pony near the gate, waiting for the party to start.
The hunters were all in their saddles, and the colonel’s hounds were frisking about in front of the wagon, with every demonstration of joy.
The quartermaster stood holding by the bridle a beautiful little nag, which was affectionately rubbing her head against his shoulder.
This was the major’s holiday horse—the one he rode on dress-parades, and other extra occasions. The one he rode on his scouts and campaigns was a tall, raw-boned roan, which he called his war-horse.
Oscar threw his rifle over his shoulder—it was provided with a sling similar to the one that was attached to the fowling-piece—placed his saddle-bags in the wagon, and mounted his horse, whereupon the guide put his pony in motion and rode out of the gate, the cavalcade following close at his heels.
The sun was just setting as they started out; and, before they had proceeded many miles on their way, night settled down over the prairie.
As the sky was cloudy, and no stars were to be seen, the darkness soon became intense. All Oscar could see in advance of him was the white blanket worn by the Indian guide, who kept steadily on his way, as sure of his course as he would have been in broad daylight.
But the darkness did not affect the spirits of the hunters, who acted like a lot of boys just turned loose from school. Even the colonel had thrown aside his dignity, and seemed delighted to have the opportunity to let out a little of the jovial spirit and good feeling which had so long been restrained by the requirements of official etiquette.