LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 95 



fearlessly, chopping off the upper limbs springing like 

 squirrels from branch to branch, which, in their confined 

 costume, appeared matter of considerable difficulty. 



The most laughter - provoking scenes, however, were, 

 when a number of squaws sallied out to the grove with 

 their long-nosed wolfish -looking dogs harnessed to their 

 travees or trabogans, on which loads of cotton-wood were 

 piled. The dogs, knowing full well the duty required of 

 them, refuse to approach the coaxing squaws, and, at the 

 same time, are fearful of provoking their anger by escaping 

 and running off. They, therefore, squat on their haunches, 

 with tongues hanging out of their long mouths, the picture 

 of indecision, removing a short distance as the irate squaw 

 approaches. When once harnessed to the travee, however, 

 which is simply a couple of lodge-poles lashed on either 

 side of the dog, with a couple of cross-bars near the ends to 

 support the freight, they follow quietly enough, urged by 

 bevies of children who invariably accompany the women. 

 Once arrived at the scene of their labours, the reluctance 

 of the curs to draw near the piles of cotton-wood is most 

 comical. They will lie down stubbornly at a little dis- 

 tance, whining their uneasiness, or sometimes scamper 

 off bodily, with their long poles trailing after them, pur- 

 sued by the yelling and half-frantic squaws. 



When the travees are laden, the squaws, bent double 

 under loads of wood sufficient to break a porter's back, and 

 calling to the dogs, which are urged on by the buffalo-fed 

 urchins in rear, lead the line of march. The curs, taking 

 advantage of the helpless state of their mistresses, turn a 

 deaf ear to their coaxings, lying down every few yards to 

 rest, growling and fighting with each other, in which en- 

 counters every cur joins the melee, charging pell-mell into 

 the yelping throng, upsetting the squalling children, and 

 making confusion worse confounded. Then, armed with 

 lodge-poles, the squaws, throwing down their loads, rush 

 to the rescue, dealing stalwart blows on the pugnacious 

 curs, and finally restoring something like order to the 

 march. 



" Tszoo tszoo ! " they cry, " wah, kashne, ceitcha get 



