A DAY ON THE PLAINS. 43 



Great Bear or " Dipper." When I was weary with a hard 

 day's march, how slow it moved around the pivotal North 

 Star? How glad was I when the extreme point of the 

 " Dipper " pointed to midnight's noon, when I would go to the 

 corral, some times a half mile off, and arouse our sleepy suc- 

 cessors. These would after a while make their appearance 

 through the dark air, often vowing that my watch was not 

 right and that they had been called too early. I am afraid 

 they were sometimes right in their suspicions. 



Our cook was called " Black Bill." He was not a negro, 

 but a dark-featured Caucasian with full lips. He detested the 

 name, but it stuck to him. His duties exempted him from 

 night guard, but his office was a thankless one, for he had 

 to scold the men to make them get w^ood and water, and was 

 growled at for his cookery. Once or twice he left his work, 

 but his successors did so badly that we coaxed him back and 

 used him better. 



Once, after a hard night on guard, I concluded to take the 

 cook's situation myself. The growls of the mess and a 

 haggardness which showed through the tan and dirt shroud- 

 ing their faces soon, however, relegated me back to my proper 

 place. 



For awhile after supper we sit around the embers of our 

 fire, some listlessly dozing, some thinking of the past or 

 speculating on the future, others listening to the talk of more 

 wide-awake comrades, not very edifying at the most. 



Just now it is about the buffalo, and how many each one 

 had shot, or what kind of oxen they would make, and whether 

 the herd would stampede our cattle to-night, how they liked 

 the meat, etc. In general, the conversation ran on the day's 

 doings, but sometimes tough yarns, embodying the experience 

 of old teamsters, took up the time. 



Let me say something about our motley crew. I did not 



