390 BUFFALO LAND. 



at dawn. We organized a reconnoissance immedi- 

 ately, and, six men strong, moved toward the timber. 

 Scattering as much as possible, that concealed sav- 

 ages might not have the advantage of a bunch-shot, 

 we cautiously reached the border of the trees, and 

 entered their shadows. We breathed more freely; 

 if tree-fighting was to be indulged in, we now had an 

 equal chance. It is a trying experience, reader, to 

 advance within range of a supposed ambuscade, and 

 the moment when one reaches the cover unharmed 

 is a blessed one. The logs and stumps which seemed 

 so hideous, when death was thought to be crouching 

 behind, suddenly glow with friendship, and one is 

 glad to know that he can hug such friends, should 

 danger glare out from the bushes ahead. 



As we walked forward, Shamus' witch suddenly 

 appeared before us. It was the body of a papoose, 

 fastened in a tree. 



The spot was evidently an Indian burying-ground. 

 The corpse had been loosened by the wind, and now 

 rocked back and forth, staring at us. It was dried 

 by the air into a shriveled deformity, rendered 

 doubly grotesque by the beads and other articles 

 with which it had been decked when laid away. We 

 had neither time nor inclination to explore the grove 

 for other bodies, preferring our supper and our 

 blankets. As Shamus stoutly held to the story of 

 the phantom pacer, we were forced to conclude that 

 some stray Indian, from motives of either curiosity 

 or reverence, had been visiting the grove when 

 frightened out of it by our cook. In the gathering 



