220 IN THE OLD WEST 



can understand the relish with which they ac- 

 cepted the invitation of the Cap'n (as they called 

 the Scotchman) to " take a horn of liquor." 

 Killbuck and La Bonte sat in the same position as 

 when we first surprised them asleep under the 

 shadow of Independence Rock, regarding the pro- 

 fuse display of comestibles with scarce-believing 

 eyes, and childishly helpless from the novelty of 

 the scene. Each took the proffered half-pint cup, 

 filled to the brim with excellent brandy — (no 

 teetotallers they!) — looked once at the amber- 

 colored surface, and, with the usual mountain 

 pledge of " here's luck ! " tossed off the grateful 

 liquor at a breath. This prepared them in some 

 measure for what was yet in store for them. The 

 Scotchman bestirred the cook in his work, and 

 soon sundry steaming pots were lifted from the 

 fire, and the skillets emptied of their bread — the 

 contents of the former poured in large flat pans, 

 while pannikins were filled with smoking coffee. 

 The two trappers needed no second invitation, 

 but, seizing each a panful of steaming stew, drew 

 the butcher-knives from their belts, and fell-to 

 lustily — the hospitable Scotchman plying them 

 with more and more, and administering corrective 

 noggins of brandy the while ; until at last they were 

 fain to cry " enough," wiped their knives on the 

 grass, and placed them in their sheaths — a sign 

 that human nature could no more. How can pen 

 describe the luxury of the smoke that followed, to 



