4 ON THE FRONTIER. 



and a portable stove. Oh that stove ! It was one of those 

 camp miracles that are so nice. It smoked the tent ; it 

 smoked everything. It burned the bread. It scorched the 

 meat. It let the coffee-pot drop through into the coals. It 

 was the first if I remain sane, it is the last camp-stove 

 I will ever travel in company with. And we had a large 

 camp-kettle to render down buffalo tallow, and two barrels, 

 well stuffed with necessaries, but to be emptied and filled 

 with buffalo tongues, pickled. 



We were made much sport of on the strength of those 

 barrels for tongues. It was pleasantly suggested the Indians 

 would pickle us in them ; that they would make excellent 

 coffins ; that their staves would not stave off starva- 

 tion, when, having lost our way, our mules, our horses, 

 we should be in danger of death from hunger. Thus did 

 our festive friends give us words of advice and encourage- 

 ment. 



We could have got sound counsel from our friend and 

 neighbour, Captain John Connor, the head chief of the 

 Delaware Indians, but he had been gone some time with a 

 little band of braves on his annual hunt ; and to have 

 awaited his return would have detained us past the buffalo 

 season. 



Old Connor was a very good friend to me, and as he was 

 unquestionably the first hunter, trapper, and mountaineer 

 of his day, the best civilised Indian I have ever seen, and a 

 reliable and upright man, I will sketch his history before 

 going further, for such specimens are scarce. 



Captain John Connor was born in Texas ; the Delaware 

 band to which his parents belonged being then there. Of 



