Drip—drip—drip—pattered the rain into a tin bucket, placed in the tent to receive it. At length a large puddle which had collected in the rear, overflowed its banks, and stole in a small rivulet through the centre of the tent. A smothered oath from one of the party, who was seated in the very track of the water, announced its intrusion. Several of the soldiers were then sent out, with pails and shovels, and in a short time succeeded in draining a part of the pond, and digging a different outlet for its waters.
Just then the yelping of a cur was heard at a little distance, in a clump of bushes, which the Wild Horse had chosen for his residence.
“So! the dog too is a sufferer on account of the inclemency of the weather. No doubt the Wild Horse is completely drenched, and in a terrible fume.”
Another hour passed, but still the rain continued. Just then the entrance of the tent was darkened, and the Wild Horse entered. He held in his hand a large wooden bowl, filled with boiled flesh, which he placed smoking before us. We were informed that it was dog flesh, and invited to try it. The soldiers had also received a share, but without being told what it was. “What is it,” said one, taking up a small morsel, and holding it to his nose, “is it venison?”
“It tastes odd,” said another, biting in two a large piece. Several of them then commenced an attack upon the contents of their bowl.
“I don’t exactly know what animal this belongs to,” said one of them, who was eating heartily; “and to tell the truth, I don’t altogether like the strangeish taste, there is about it.”
“Poh! what should it be,” repeated another, “but venison? and mighty tender too. I wish there was more of it; fresh meat don’t come every day upon these prairies, for the deer are getting powerful shy.”
Just then the canvas opening of the tent was pulled back, and the iron face of the interpreter was thrust in to say, that the Wild Horse wished to know, if the commissioner was pleased with the dog’s flesh. The soldiers overheard it, and in an instant the dish was hurled from the fire, and the gourmands made for the water, writhing and twisting their faces, as if they had been stricken by St. Vitus. The Wild Horse gazed upon them with amazement, mingled with anger; but when the interpreter explained the cause of the tumult, his displeasure vanished, and a grim smile lighted up his hard, weather-beaten face. Then turning to his wife, (for he was attended by his better half) he called for a fresh supply of the viand, and collecting round him a group of the vagabond-looking beings, who were nestling in the grass, they soon left little else but clean bones in the bowl.