"The Norther came,
The Norther went.
It suits its name,
Its rage is spent.
"From the looks of things now," he continued, "you wouldn't think it had been whistling and groaning around us for about twenty-four hours, trying to shoot us to death with showers of hail, but I'd have you to know, Sir Philip of the Untimely Cold and the Hateful Storm, that I have recorded it upon the tablets of my memory. I wouldn't like to meet such a Norther when I was alone on the plains, on foot, and clad in sandals, a linen suit, and a straw hat."
"Nor I," said Phil with emphasis.
Now they lighted fires of buffalo chips which were abundant everywhere, and ate the first warm food that they had had since the day before at noon. Then they advanced four or five miles and encamped on the banks of a creek, a small stream of water flowing in a broad, sandy bed. Phil and some of the others scouted in a wide circle for Comanches, but saw no signs, and, as he had slept so late that day, the boy remained awake most of the night. There was a good moonlight, and he saw dusky slinking forms on the plain.
"Coyotes," said Bill Breakstone. "At least, most of them are, though I think from their size that two or three of those figures out there must be timber wolves. If I'm right about 'em, it means that we're not far from a belt of forest country."
"I hope you're right," said Phil. "I'm getting tired of plains now, and I'd like to see trees and hills again, and also water that runs faster and that's less muddy than these sluggish and sandy creeks."
Bill Breakstone threw back his head and laughed with unction.
"That's the way with fellows who were born in the hills," he said. "Wherever you go, sooner or later you'll pine for 'em again. I'm one of that lot, too."
"Yes, it's so," admitted Phil. "I like the great plains, the vastness, the mystery, and the wonderful air which must be the purest in the world, that's always blowing over them, but for a real snug, homey feeling give me a little valley in the hills, with a brook of green-white water about six inches deep running down it, and plenty of fine trees--oak, beech, hickory, elm, walnut, and chestnut--growing on the slopes and tops of the hills."
"A pretty picture, Sir Philip of the Brook, the Hill, the Valley, and the Tree," said Bill Breakstone, "and maybe we will see it soon. As I told you, timber wolves indicate trees not far off."