IN THE OLD WEST 47 



" Yep, old gal ! " cried Killbuck to the animal, 

 at the same time picking a piece of burnt wood 

 from the fire and throwing it at her, at which the 

 mule gathered itself up and cocked her ears as 

 she recognized her master's voice. " Yep, old gal ! 

 and keep your nose open ; thar's brown skin about, 

 I'm thinkin', and maybe you'll get roped (lasso'd) 

 by a Rapaho afore mornin'.'* Again the old 

 trapper settled himself before the fire ; and soon 

 his head began to nod, as drowsiness stole over 

 him. Already he was in the land of dreams ; rev- 

 elling amongst bands of " fat cow," or hunting 

 along a stream well peopled with beaver; with no 

 Indian " sign " to disturb him, and the merry 

 rendezvous in close perspective, and his peltry 

 selling briskly at six dollars the plew, and galore 

 of alcohol to ratify the trade. Or, perhaps, 

 threading the back trail of his memory, he passed 

 rapidly through the perilous vicissitudes of his 

 hard, hard life — starving one day, reveling in 

 abundance the next; now beset by whooping sav- 

 ages thirsting for his blood, baying his enemies 

 lik:e the hunted deer, but with the unflinching 

 courage of a man; now, all care thrown aside, 

 secure and forgetful of the past, a welcome guest 

 in the hospitable trading fort; or back, as the 

 trail gets fainter, to his childhood's home in the 

 brown forests of old Kentuck, tended and cared 

 for — his only thought to enjoy the hominy and 

 johnny cakes of his thrifty mother. Once more, 



