Chapter Seven.
Nocturnal Annoyances.
The unexpected discovery, that his purpose had been already anticipated by the capture of the spotted mustang, raised the spirits of the old hunter to a high pitch of excitement.
They were further elevated by a portion of the contents of the demijohn, which held out beyond Phelim’s expectations: giving all hands an appetising “nip” before attacking the roast turkey, with another go each to wash it down, and several more to accompany the post-cenal pipe.
While this was being indulged in, a conversation was carried on; the themes being those that all prairie men delight to talk about: Indian and hunter lore.
As Zeb Stump was a sort of living encyclopaedia of the latter, he was allowed to do most of the talking; and he did it in such a fashion as to draw many a wondering ejaculation, from the tongue of the astonished Galwegian.
Long before midnight, however, the conversation was brought to a close. Perhaps the empty demijohn was, as much as anything else, the monitor that urged their retiring to rest; though there was another and more creditable reason. On the morrow, the mustanger intended to start for the Settlements; and it was necessary that all should be astir at an early hour, to make preparation for the journey. The wild horses, as yet but slightly tamed, had to be strung together, to secure against their escaping by the way; and many other matters required attending to previous to departure.
The hunter had already tethered out his “ole maar”—as he designated the sorry specimen of horseflesh he was occasionally accustomed to bestride—and had brought back with him an old yellowish blanket, which was all he ever used for a bed.
“You may take my bedstead,” said his courteous host; “I can lay myself on a skin along the floor.”