“Why, Joe!” exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise, “I thought you were admirin’ the beautiful face o’ nature all this time, and yer only thinkin’ about the sodgers. Now, that’s strange!”
“Not so strange after all, lad,” answered Joe. “When a man’s used to a thing he gits to admire an’ enjoy it without speakin’ much about it. But it is true, boy, that mankind gits in coorse o’ time to think little o’ the blissins he’s used to.”
“Oui, c’est vrai!” murmured Henri emphatically.
“Well, Joe Blunt, it may be so; but I’m thankful I’m not used to this sort o’ thing yet,” exclaimed Varley. “Let’s have another gallop—so ho! come along, Crusoe!” shouted the youth, as he shook his reins, and flew over a long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they entered.
Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion, but after a short run he pulled up.
“Hold on, youngster,” he cried, “ye must larn to do as yer bid, lad; it’s trouble enough to be among wild Injuns and wild buffaloes, as I hope soon to be, without havin’ wild comrades to look after.”
Dick laughed and reined in his panting horse. “I’ll be as obedient as Crusoe,” he said, “and no one can beat him.”
“Besides,” continued Joe, “the horses won’t travel far if we begin by runnin’ all the wind out o’ them.”
“Wah!” exclaimed Henri, as the led horse became restive; “I think we must give to him de pack-hoss for to lead, eh!”
“Not a bad notion, Henri. We’ll make that the penalty of runnin’ off again; so look out, Master Dick.”