It was a lazy time, those November days. Large flocks of swans filled the air above, with their flute-like notes, and thousands of sand-hill cranes circled far up toward the sun, their bodies looking like distant bees, as from dizzy heights they croaked their approbation of the rich crops beneath them. Ducks passed like charges of grape shot, sending back shrill whistles from their wings, as they dived down into the standing corn.
As night came on, the moon went up in a great rush of light, like the reflector of a railroad train mounting the sky. Soon every shadow is driven from the woods, and then the horns are tooted, the dogs howl, and away go gangs of woolly heads, old and young, in pursuit of Messrs. 'Possum and 'Coon. In vain the sly tree-fox doubles around stumps, and leaving tempting persimmon and oaks full of plumpest acorns, at the warning noise, seeks refuge among huge cypresses. On go the hunters—big dogs, little dogs, bear-teasers, and deer-hounds, sprinkled with darkeys—crashing through cane and underbrush, the human portion of the party laughing and yelling as if a tempest had stolen them ages ago from Babel, and just discharged them in pursuit of that particular 'coon.
The voice of the Professor suddenly called me back to the present, and I found myself chilled by the wet grass, as if my body had been wandering with the mind in that land of cotton, and was unprepared for the northern air.
"Gentlemen"—this was what the voice said—"we are now one thousand and five hundred miles from Washington City, latitude 39, longitude 99. Stick a pin there on the map, and you will find that we have got well out on the spot that geographers have been pleased to call desert. Does it look like one? Tell me, gentlemen, had you rather discount your manhood among the stumps of New England than loan it at a premium to the rich banks of these streams?"
The Professor came to an abrupt pause, for borne to us on the still air was that most unmistakable of all sounds, the human voice. The note of one bird at a distance may be mistaken for another, and the cry of a brute, when faintly heard, lose its distinguishing tones. But once let man lift up his voice in the solitude, and all nature knows that the lord of animal creation is abroad. There are many sounds which resemble the human voice, just as there are many objects which, indistinctly seen, the hunter's eye may misinterpret as birds. But when a flock of birds does cross his vision, however far away, he never mistakes them for any thing else. The first may have excited suspicion, the latter resolves at once into certainty.
We listened attentively and anxiously. It might very naturally be supposed that, after leaving the abodes of his fellows, and going far out into the solitary places of Nature, man would rejoice to catch the sounds which told him that others of his race were near, but this, like many other things, is modified by circumstances. On the plains the first question asked is, "Are they friends or foes?" No one being able to answer, the breeze and general probabilities are inquired of, and until the eyes pass verdict the moments are laden with suspense. Even in times of peace the hunter, if possible, avoids the savage bands which flit back and forth across Buffalo Land; for, if he saves his life, he is apt to lose an inconvenient amount of provisions, at least, at their hands.
Our guide speedily informed us that Indians never make any noise when in camp, which was gratifying intelligence. All further suspense was shortly relieved by the appearance down the valley of muskets glittering in the moon-light. The bearers proved to be two soldiers, who stated that some officers, with a small force of cavalry, were in camp a mile below us, being out for the purpose of obtaining buffalo meat, and having as guests two or three gentlemen from St. Louis, desirous of seeing the sport. They had heard our late heavy firing, and sent to know what was the matter. We gave the soldiers a late paper to carry back, and with many regrets that our fatigue was too great to think of accompanying them for a neighborly call, we bade them good-night, and saw them disappear down the valley.
At the Professor's suggestion, preparations were now made for retiring, and we sought our tent and blankets. In a few brief moments, the others of the party were blowing, in nasal trumpetings, the praises of Morpheus. I could not sleep, however; for each bone had its own individual ache, and was telling how tired it was. Pulling up a tent-pin, I looked out under the canvas.
On a log by the fire sat Shamus, his head between his hands, gazing at the coals, and droning a low tune. Occasionally, he would make a dash at some fire-brand, with a stick which he used as a poker, and break it into fragments, or toss it nervously to one side. Whether this was because it resolved itself into a fire-sprite winking at him, or some unhappy memory glowed out of the coals, I tried to tempt sleep by conjecturing.
Off at a little distance, I could see one of our men standing guard near the horses, and once or twice my excited fancy thought it detected shadows creeping toward him. A little beyond, nervously stretching his lariat rope, while walking in a circle around the pin, was Mr. Colon's Iron Billy. His clean head erect, and fine nose taking the breeze, the intelligent animal appeared restless, and I could not help thinking that he saw or smelt something unusual, away in the darkness. What if the bottom grass was full of creeping savages?