the lone mound.

their route led them through one of those lovely landscapes which are met with only in this southern region—a flower-prairie. they travelled in the midst of flowers. flowers were before them, behind, and on every side. their shining corollas covered the prairie as far as the eye could see. there were golden sunflowers (helianthi), and red malvas, euphorbias, and purple lupins. there were the rose-coloured blossoms of the wild althea, and the brilliant orange of californian poppies—glancing among the green leaves like so many balls of fire—while lower upon the surface grew the humble violas, sparkling like azure gems.

the glorious sun was shining over all; and the late rain that had washed them seemed to have added to the fragrance and brilliancy. millions of butterflies flew over them, or rested in their soft cups, not less brilliant than the flowers themselves. some of these were of vast dimensions, their downy wings speckled and striped with varied and gorgeous tints. there were other insects of gay colours and glancing wings. the giant spider-fly flew around, now poised on whirring wing, and now darting off like a thread of lightning to some other part of the boundless garden. there were bees, too; and bee-birds humming from flower to flower, and robbing their rich nectaries. now and then partridges and ruffed grouse whirred up before the horses; and françois succeeded in shooting a brace of the latter, and hanging them behind his saddle.

through these great flower-beds our travellers rode on, crushing many a beautiful corolla under their horses’ hoofs. sometimes the flowers grew upon tall stalks that stood thickly together, and reached up to the shoulders of the horses, completely hiding them from the view of one at a distance. sometimes the travellers passed through beds of helianthi alone—whose large heads, brushing against their thighs, covered them with yellow pollen-dust.

it was, altogether, a rare and beautiful landscape; and the young hunters would have enjoyed it much, had they not been suffering from weariness and want of sleep. the fragrance of the flowers seemed at first to refresh them; but after a while they became sensible of a narcotic influence which it exercised over them, as they felt more sleepy than ever. they would have encamped among them, but there was no water; and without water they could not remain. there was no grass, either, for their animals; as, strange to say, upon these flower-prairies grass is seldom met with. the flower-stalks usurp the soil, and no turf is ever found about their roots. the travellers, therefore, were compelled to ride on, until they should reach some spot having grass and water—two of the necessary requisites of a “night-camp.”

after proceeding about ten miles the flowers began to appear more thinly scattered over the surface, and at length declined into the grass prairie. two or three miles farther brought our adventurers to a small “spring branch” that ran through the open plain, with no timber upon its banks, except a few willows. here they were glad to halt for the night, and they dismounted, and staked their animals upon the tempting sward.

all three were weary, and could have slept; but they were hungry as well, and must first eat—so they set about preparing supper. the willows were green, and would not burn very well; but by dint of perseverance they managed to make a fire. françois’ grouse were plunged into the kettle. these, seasoned with wild onions, nasturtium, and prairie-turnips—which lucien had gathered along the route,—made a dish that was far from unpalatable. the stock of bear-meat was not touched—with the exception of a small piece, which, with the heads and other refuse parts of the grouse, formed the supper of marengo. as soon as they had finished eating, the hunters spread their buffalo-robes upon the grass; and, drawing their blankets over them, went off into a sound sleep.

this night they were not disturbed. when awake they could hear the howling of wolves upon the distant prairie, and near their camp. but they were used to this serenading music, and did not regard it. all three slept soundly throughout the live-long night.

they were awake by grey dawn, and felt quite refreshed. they watered their horses, and prepared their breakfast of jerked bear-meat. this is not bad eating at any time; but to appetites like theirs it was a luxury indeed; and they broke their fast cleverly enough—eating nearly a pound a-piece. they all felt quite merry and jocund. marengo was merry, though the claws of the cougar had scored his countenance sadly. jeanette, too, frisked about, kicking at the flies as she fed. basil had given her shanks a fresh touch of the bear’s grease; and the scars which the cougar had made were likely to cicatrise speedily. they remained all next day by that sweet spring, and enjoyed another night of undisturbed rest. on the second morning they continued their journey, and in a few days reached the “cross timbers,”—those celebrated groves that have so long puzzled the speculations of the curious naturalist. our travellers did not remain long by them—as they saw no signs of the buffalo—but kept still farther to the west, crossing the head-waters of numerous streams that run into the river brazos.

about the third day, after leaving the cross timbers, they encamped on one of these streams—a very small one—that meandered through the prairie, without any timber upon its banks. but our travellers did not feel the want of this, as they could make their fire out of an article—the sight of which had been gladdening their eyes during the whole of that day’s journey. it was the bois de vache, or buffalo “chips,” as it is called by the trappers; and they knew that where this was found, the buffaloes themselves would not be far off. they had now got within the range of these animals; and might expect to fall in with them at any moment.

as soon as the next day dawned, the eyes of our hunters sought the prairie, but as yet no buffaloes were in sight. nothing could be seen but the green treeless plain, stretching on all sides as if to the very sky. only one object could be observed that gave a variety to the aspect around. this was an eminence that rose over the sea-like surface of the prairie—called in the language of the hunters, a “butte.” it appeared ten miles distant, at least; and seemed to stand alone, its steep sides rising like cliffs above the prairie level. it lay in the course they had hitherto been travelling.

“shall we make for it?” asked they of one another.

“what better can we do?” said basil. “we are as likely to meet the buffalo in that direction as in any other. we have no guide now; so we must trust to our good fortune to lead us to them, or them to us—which is about the same thing, i fancy.”

“oh! let us ‘catch up,’” advised françois, “and ride for the butte. we may find buffalo near it.”

“but what if we find no water?” suggested the ever-prudent lucien.

“that is not likely,” returned françois. “i’ll warrant there’s water—there generally is where there are mountains, i believe; and yonder butte might almost be called a mountain. i’ll warrant there’s water.”

“if there’s not,” added basil, “we can return here.”

“but, brothers,” said lucien, “you know not the distance of that eminence.”

“ten miles, i should think,” said basil.

“not more, certainly,” added françois.

“it is thirty, if an inch,” quietly remarked lucien.

“thirty!” exclaimed the others; “thirty miles! you are jesting, are you not? why, i could almost lay my hand upon it!”

“that is a misconception of yours,” rejoined the philosopher. “you are both calculating distances, as you would in the low dense atmosphere of louisiana. remember you are now four thousand feet above the level of the sea, and surrounded by one of the purest and most translucent atmospheres in the world. objects can be seen double the distance that you could see them on the banks of the mississippi. that butte, which you think is only ten miles off, appears to me fifteen, or rather more; and i therefore calculate that it is at least thirty miles distant from the spot where we now are.”

“impossible!” exclaimed basil, eyeing the butte. “why, i can see the seams of the rocks on its sides, and trees, i fancy, growing upon its top.”

“well,” continued lucien, “with all that you’ll find i am not far from the mark. but let us strike for it, since you wish it. we shall meet with water there, i suppose; take notice, however,—we’ll have to journey all day before reaching it; and we may consider ourselves fortunate if we get there before night-fall.”

lucien’s prudence was not too great. on the contrary, it was not even sufficient for the occasion. this arose from his want of experience on the prairies. if either he or his brothers had had a little more of this, they would have hesitated before striking out so boldly, and leaving the water behind them. they would have known that, to make a long journey, without the certainty of finding water at the end of it, is a risk that even the old hunters themselves will seldom undertake. these, from experience, well know the danger of being without water on the prairies. they dread it more than grizzly bears, or panthers, or wolverines, or even hostile indians. the fear of thirst is to them the greatest of all terrors.

our young hunters felt but little of this fear. it is true they had, all of them, heard or read of the sufferings that prairie travellers sometimes endure from want of water. but people who live snugly at home, surrounded by springs, and wells, and streams, with cisterns, and reservoirs, and pipes, and hydrants, and jets, and fountains, playing at all times around them, are prone to underrate these sufferings; in fact, too prone, might i not say, to discredit everything that does not come under the sphere of their own observation? they will readily believe that their cat can open a door-latch, and their pig can be taught to play cards, and that their dog can do wonderful things, savouring of something more than instinct. but these same people will shake their heads incredulously, when i tell them that the opossum saves herself from an enemy by hanging suspended to the tree-branch by her tail, or that the big-horn will leap from a precipice lighting upon his horns, or that the red monkeys can bridge a stream by joining themselves to one another by their tails.

“oh! nonsense!” they exclaim; “these things are too strange to be true.” and yet, when compared with the tricks their cat and dog can play, and even the little canary that flits about the drawing-room, do they seem either strange or improbable? the absent and distant are always regarded with wonder and incredulity; while familiar facts, in themselves far more wonderful, neither excite curiosity nor challenge credulity. who now regards the startling phenomenon of the electric wire otherwise than as a simple truth easily comprehended? and yet there was a time—ah! there was a time—when to have proclaimed this truth would have rendered you or me ridiculous. there was a time, indeed, when it might have cost us our lives or our liberties. remember galileo!

i was saying, then, that people who live at home do not know what thirst is; for home is a place where there is always water. they cannot comprehend what it is to be in the desert without this necessary element. ha! i know it; and i give you my word for it, it is a fearful thing.

our young hunters had but a faint idea of its terrors. hitherto their route had been through a well-watered region—scarcely ever running ten or a dozen miles without crossing some stream with timber upon it, which they could see a long way off, and thus guide themselves to the water; but they little understood the nature of the country that was now before them. they knew not that they were entering upon the desert plains—those vast arid steppes that slope up to the foots of the rocky mountains—the cordilleras of the northern andes.

françois, rash and impetuous, never dreamt of danger: basil, courageous, did not fear it: lucien had some misgivings, because he had heard or read more of it than the others. all, however, were curious to visit the strange, mound-looking eminence that rose out of the plain. this was quite natural. even the rude savage and the matter-of-fact trapper often diverge from their course, impelled by a similar curiosity.

the horses were watered and saddled; jeanette was packed; the water-gourds were filled; and our adventurers, having mounted, rode forward for the “butte.”