54 CANADIAN NIGHTS 



represented everything that was civilised, all the 

 luxuries that could be carried in a train were to be 

 found on board of it, the people were all clothed 

 in fashionable dresses, it was like a slice cut out of 

 one of the Eastern cities set down bodily in the 

 midst of a perfect wilderness. In a few seconds it 

 was gone, civilisation vanished with it, the station 

 relapsed into its normal condition of desolation, 

 and I found myself almost alone in the heart of the 

 desert. 



The day had been hot, and the air was resonant 

 with the noise of crickets and cicali. The almost 

 level prairie stretched out around me, fading away 

 towards the east in interminable distances, while in 

 the west the sun was just sinking behind a range 

 of low sand-hills and bluffs. The air was still 

 and calm, the sky perfectly cloudless, and the 

 setting sun cast a faint delicate rosy hue over 

 the sand and burnt sun-scorched herbage of the 

 prairie, giving it the general tint and appearance 

 of the Egyptian desert. It was very beautiful but 

 somewhat melancholy, and I confess I felt rather 

 blue and dismal as I watched the train vanishing 

 in the distance ; nor were my spirits roused by 

 learning from the station-master that Buffalo Bill 

 and Texas Jack had left the fort that very morning 



