PKOFESSION FOLKS ON A SCOUT. 367 



one of them we obtained an account of the expedi- 

 tion. Fresh from the mouth of that sandy hell in 

 the river's head, which had sucked out the life-blood 

 of so many of his companions, I wish my readers 

 could have heard the story told with the rude elo- 

 quence in which he clothed it. As it is, how nearly 

 they will come to doing so, must perforce depend on 

 how nearly I can remember his language. 



"You see, captain," he began (it is considered im- 

 polite among this class ever to address one without 

 using some title ), " we had the nicest little forty lot 

 o' scouts that ever followed the plains fur a living, 

 and trails fur an Injun. Thar wur ingineers, doctors, 

 counter-jumpers, and a few deadbeats, but every one 

 of 'em had lots of fight, and not the least bit of scare. 

 Ther talents run ter fightin', an' ther bodies never 

 run away from it. 



" It wur kinder curious, though, to see the chaps 

 that wur not bred ter ther business git along. They 

 wur the profession folks. Some had a little compass, 

 not much bigger 'n a button, that they carried on the 

 sly. Good scouts do n't need no such fixin's. These 

 uns 'ud reach inter ther pockets, as if they was going 

 ter take a chaw o' terbaccer, and gettin' a sly wink 

 at ther needle, would cry out ter ther neighbors, ' I 

 say, boss, we 're goin' a little too much east of 

 north ! ' or, ' I tell yer what, fel, we 're at least two 

 p'ints off our course.' And all ther time they 

 could n't have told south from west, without them 

 needles. But ther war n't a coward in the whole 

 pack. Every une had a back as stiff fur a fight ns a cat. 



"We struck a large Injun trail the fourth day out, 



