CHAPTER XXVIII. 



tHI BLOCK-H0U8K ON THE 80L0M0N — HOW THE OLD MAN DIED — WACONDA DA — 

 LBORNO Or WA-BOG-AHA AND HEWGAW — SABBATH MORNING — SACHEM'B rC- 



RTICAL EPITAPH AN ALARM — BATTLE BETWEEN AN EMIGRANT AND TH1 IH- 



DfANS WAS IT THE SYDNEYS? TO THE RESCUE — AN ELK HUNT ROCKY 



MOUNTAIN SHEEP — NOVEL MODE OF HUNTING TURKEYS — IN CAMP ON THB 

 SOLOMON — A WARM WELCOME. 



ON the second day we reached the Solomon, and 

 directed our course down its valley. Shamus' 

 face was as bright as if he was about to blow up an 

 English prison, which, for so pronounced a Fenian, 

 indicated a happiness of the very highest degree. It 

 was evident that Irish Mary had hold of the other 

 end of our cook's heart-strings, and was twitching 

 them merrily. Cupid had indeed found us in the 

 solitude, and, as Sachem expressed it, was " whang- 

 ing away " at two of our number, at least, most re- 

 morselessly. 



Two days' ride brought us to the forks of the river, 

 where a block-house had been built a year or two 

 before, and in which we expected to find a resident. 

 Since its abandonment by the troops, it had been 

 occupied by an elderly man, known as Doctor Rose, 

 who, solitary and alone, was holding this frontier 

 post, that, when civilization came, he might possess 

 it as a farm. We were disappointed. The barricade 



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