III. 



(A ©a^ on tFie pPairiA, 



LEVEL valley, miles in width; a broad river, full of 

 wooded islands, and shallows, and rippling currents ; 

 in the far distance low ranges of interminable hills; 

 a circle of white covered wagons, with the embers of campfires 

 dimly glowing in their midst. This is the scene, but the 

 central object, our camp, only is visible, for the light of morning 

 has not yet come. 



It is the dawn of a warm summer's day. Between the hard 

 bed, the heat and musquitoes, a restless night has been passed, 

 tired and needful of repose as you have been ; but as daj^ight 

 approaches, a deep sleep comes over you. Suddenly you hear a 

 thumping on the side of the sheeted wagon, accompanied with 

 cries of ^'Eoll out ! Roll out !" and words unmentionable added 

 thereto. This is the reveille of the plains, and the performer 

 is the assistant wagon-master of the train ; the musical instru- 

 ments are his lungs and a detached ox-bow. The sounds travel 

 around the circle of wagons until not a driver is slighted. 

 Drowsily you roll on your bed of hard bags of flour and try to 

 think you imagine the sounds and can sleep longer, but no, 

 they are realit}^ 



A rushing sound is heard. It is the tread of our herd of 

 over three hundred oxen, just being driven from their night's 

 grazing grounds. There are the blowing of breaths, the clatter 



(31) 



