forest, that once spread unbroken from the western plains to the shore
of the Atlantic. Looking over an intervening belt of shrubbery, we saw
the green, oceanlike expanse of prairie, stretching swell over swell to
the horizon.

It was a mild, calm spring day; a day when one is more disposed to
musing and reverie than to action, and the softest part of his nature is
apt to gain the ascendency. I rode in advance of the party, as we passed
through the shrubbery, and as a nook of green grass offered a strong
temptation, I dismounted and lay down there. All the trees and saplings
were in flower, or budding into fresh leaf; the red clusters of the
maple-blossoms and the rich flowers of the Indian apple were there in
profusion; and I was half inclined to regret leaving behind the land of
gardens for the rude and stern scenes of the prairie and the mountains.

Meanwhile the party came in sight from out of the bushes. Foremost rode
Henry Chatillon, our guide and hunter, a fine athletic figure, mounted
on a hardy gray Wyandotte pony. He wore a white blanket-coat, a broad
hat of felt, moccasins, and pantaloons of deerskin, ornamented along the
seams with rows of long fringes. His knife was stuck in his belt; his
bullet-pouch and powder-horn hung at his side, and his rifle lay before
him, resting against the high pommel of his saddle, which, like all his
equipments, had seen hard service, and was much the worse for wear. Shaw
followed close, mounted on a little sorrel horse, and leading a larger
animal by a rope. His outfit, which resembled mine, had been provided
with a view to use rather than ornament. It consisted of a plain, black
Spanish saddle, with holsters of heavy pistols, a blanket rolled up
behind it, and the trail-rope attached to his horse's neck hanging
coiled in front. He carried a double-barreled smooth-bore, while I
boasted a rifle of some fifteen pounds' weight. At that time our attire,