WANTED AT THE FEONT. 195 



if one-third of these terribly named bullies could tell, 

 on a pinch, where the north star is. Unless they 

 chanced to strike one of the Pacific lines which stretch 

 across the plains, a party, under their guidance, wish- 

 ing to go west would be equally liable to get among 

 the Northern Siouxs or the Ku-Klux of Arkansas. 



A thousand miles east Young America's cherished 

 ideal of the frontier scout and guide is an eagle-eyed 

 giant, with a horse which obeys his whistle, and 

 breaks the neck of any Indian trying to steal him. In 

 addition to its wonderful master, the back of this mod- 

 el steed is usually occupied by a rescued maiden. At 

 risk of infringing on the copyrights of thirty-six thou- 

 sand of the latest Indian stories, we have obtained from 

 an artist on the spot an illustration of the last heroine 

 brought in and her rescuer, the rare old plainsman.* 



Cody had all the frontiersman's fondness for prac- 

 tical jokes, and delighted in designating Mr. Colon 

 as "Mr. Boston," as if accidentally confounding the 

 residence with the name. In one instance, with a cry 

 of "Come, Mr. Boston, here's a specimen!" he en- 

 ticed the philanthropist into the eager pursuit of a 

 beautiful little animal through some rank bottom 

 grass, and brought the good man back in such a con- 

 dition that we unanimously insisted on his traveling 

 to leeward for the rest of the day. 



While we thus journeyed, and, in traditional 

 traveler's style, mused and pondered, Shamus came 

 running back to say that we were wanted in front. 

 "Such a goin' on in the ravine beyant as bates a 

 witch's dance all holly ! " We saw that the forward 

 wagons had halted and the men were peering 



* See illustration on page 137. 



