The trapper’s face contracted.
“I’ve had more cause than thet tew feel hard toward the red brutes. I owe ’em a debt, an’ for ten years I’ve been makin’ payments on it, an’ hain’t begun yit.”
The grove was soon reached, and selecting a suitable spot, the men prepared to encamp for the night.
About nine o’clock a storm came up; the thunder rolled and the lightnings flashed vividly. Torrents of rain came down, and the wind rocked the trees fearfully, sometimes breaking off a limb, and hurling it down in close proximity to our friends, who experienced some discomfort and inconvenience from the raging elements, being without blankets, and obliged to endure the soaking rain.
The storm was of short duration. In an hour the rain had ceased, and a few faint stars struggled through the broken clouds, looking, to the young man’s sleepy vision, as the wind-stirred boughs alternately hid and revealed them, like so many erratic fire-flies, that danced and gamboled among the swaying leaves; but even these were finally lost in slumber.
The morning broke clear and shining. Kent was awakened by a rough shake, and the voice of Nat telling him, “it war time they war trampin’.”
Starting up, he saw that it was full daybreak. Rubbing his eyes, he arose and obeyed the trapper’s advice to have “a toothful of buffler-hump,” which he already had cooked.
After eating their breakfast, they started toward the South Pass, Wild Nat saying that the emigrants would probably be there, or near there, so they could find them by night.
“If you only had a horse, we could travel much faster,” said Kent, as he mounted. “As it is, we will have to change occasionally.”
“I kin keep up with ye, as fast as ye’ll care tew go,” replied the trapper, striding away.