224 BUFFALO LAND. 



how tired it was. Pulling up a tent-pin, I looked 

 out under the canvas. 



On a log by the fire sat Shamus, his head between 

 his hands, gazing at the coals, and droning a low tune. 

 Occasionally, he would make a dash at some fire-brand, 

 with a stick which he used as a poker, and break 

 it into fragments, or toss it nervously to one side. 

 Whether this was because it resolved itself into a fire- 

 sprite winking at him, or some uuhappy memory 

 glowed out of the coals, I tried to tempt sleep by con- 

 jecturing. 



Off at a little distance, I could see one of our men 

 standing guard near the horses, and once or twice my 

 excited fancy thought it detected shadows creeping 

 toward him. A little beyond, nervously stretching 

 his lariat rope, while walking in a circle around the 

 pin, was Mr. Colon's Iron Billy. His clean head 

 erect, and fine nose taking the breeze, the intelligent 

 animal appeared restless, and I could not help think- 

 ing that he saw or smelt something unusual, away in 

 the darkness. What if the bottom grass was full of 

 creeping savages? 



The crescent moon, just rising over the divide, was 

 scarred by many cloud lines, and as yet gave no light. 

 The sensation which had stolen over me was becom- 

 ing disagreeable, when far off, at some ford down the 

 creek, I heard animals splashing through water, and 

 concluded that Billy's nervousness was caused by 

 crossing buffaloes. The horse had an established rep- 

 utation as a watch, his former owner having assured 

 us that neither Indian nor wild beast could approach 

 camp without Billy giving the alarm. 



