The pony the quartermaster had selected for him, and which had never been heard of since he threw his rider in the sage-brush, was duly paid for; and the rest of his money was placed in the hands of the colonel, all except a small sum which he kept out to pay for any little articles of luxury—such as milk, butter, and eggs—he might wish to purchase at the ranches along the route.
No one had been inquiring for him at the fort during his absence; and this proved that Tom had either done something which made him afraid, or ashamed, to show himself, or else that he was entirely satisfied with his present companion, and had no desire to better his condition in life.
Such reflections as these, which constantly forced themselves upon Oscar’s mind, did much to mar his pleasure.
By the time Oscar had eaten breakfast Big Thompson and his pony were on hand.
The guide looked dubiously at his employer’s outfit, and then glanced down at the saddle-bags that contained his own, but he had no fault to find.
He waited patiently until the boy had taken leave of all the officers, who wished him every success in his undertaking; and, when he saw Oscar climb to his seat in the wagon, he turned his pony about and led the way from the fort.
Our hero had decided to take the lieutenant’s advice, and make his mule do duty as a hunting-horse. That would be taking a long step backward, Oscar thought; for, judging by the actions of his long-eared friend, there was about as much speed in him as there was in a cow. His gait in the wagon was a lumbering trot, which he was obliged to assume in order to keep pace with the fast-walking little beast on which the guide was mounted.
He scraped his hind feet on the ground as he went along, allowed his ears to bob back and forth in the laziest kind of a way, and if by chance the pony increased his lead by a few yards, the mule, instead of quickening his own pace in order to overtake him, would utter a mournful bray, as if begging him to slacken up a little.
Oscar was not at all pleased with him, but he could not afford to pay fifty dollars for another mustang; and, as the mule would not be required to draw the wagon after the foot-hills were reached, it was nothing more than fair that he should earn his living and pay for himself, by carrying his master in pursuit of game.
He was not satisfied with his guide, either. The latter kept just far enough ahead of the wagon to make conversation impossible, and Oscar was left to the companionship of his own thoughts, which were not of the most agreeable nature.