Brother Will constituted himself an armed escort, and rode proudly
alongside on his pony, his gun slung across the pommel of his saddle,
and the dog Turk bringing up the rear.

To him this Western trip thrilled with possible Indian skirmishes and
other stirring adventures, though of the real dangers that lay in our
path he did not dream. For him, therefore, the first week of our travels
held no great interest, for we were constantly chancing upon settlers
and farm-houses, in which the night might be passed; but with every
mile the settlers grew fewer and farther between; until one day Will
whispered to us, in great glee: "I heard father tell mother that he
expected we should have to camp to-night. Now we'll have some fun!"

Will's hope was well founded. Shortly before nightfall we reached a
stream that demanded a ferry-boat for its crossing, and as the nearest
dwelling was a dozen miles away, it was decided that we should camp by
the stream-side. The family was first sent across the ferry, and upon
the eight-year-old lad of the house father placed the responsibility of
selecting the ground on which to pitch the tents.

My brother's career forcibly illustrates the fact that environment plays
as large a part as heredity in shaping character. Perhaps his love for
the free life of the plains is a heritage derived from some long-gone
ancestor; but there can be no doubt that to the earlier experiences
of which I am writing he owed his ability as a scout. The faculty for
obtaining water, striking trails, and finding desirable camping-grounds
in him seemed almost instinct.

The tents being pitched upon a satisfactory site, Will called to Turk,
the dog, and rifle in hand, set forth in search of game for supper. He