350 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 
In truth, we were an odd-looking set—each one dressed in 
buckskin, fashioned and trimmed very much to suit individual 
taste, with no sort of respect to uniformity—our whole equip- 
ment making up a singular amalgamation of Mexican, Indian 
and American costumes, while our arms were of almost every 
conceivable stamp. The most experienced hunters carried 
the old-fashioned long-harreled rifle, single-barreled pistols, 
and a heavy knife; while those of us just from the States, 
were loaded down with the newest inventions—six-shooting 
revolvers, double-barrels, and all sorts of new-fangled notions, 
which we supposed were to make us, individually, a host—for 
which unwarranted supposition we got ourselves laughed at 
most heartily, and were afterwards glad to have time for 
repentance. 
Our horses, some of them mustangs, others American, had 
been carefully selected with reference to their speed and 
endurance; and all, with the exception of the Doctor’s 
nondescript pony, were fine looking animals. 
After clearing the narrow streets of the dilapidated town, 
and gaining the open prairie, which lay stretched like an 
ocean before us, with its long waves stilled upon the leap—it 
was a glorious intoxication to feel the noble brutes exulting 
in their strength beneath us, as they bounded over the undu- 
lations; and, in one full ringing shout, our pent-up spirits 
greeted the mountain winds,that came dashing their cool wel- 
come against our faces! 
Ho! for the mountains! ho! away! 
For merry men are we! 
A short but rapid ride through a lovely region—whose 
diversified features shifted in panoramic changes every moment 
as we dashed by—brought us to a small stream, which was 
to be our camping place for the night; and here, we must 
confess, that as is invariably the case on the first night out, 
there was a sort of intoxication rife round our camp-fires very 
