nor checked their headlong course till the sun blazed over the level sweep of the eastern plain.
Then they sprang from the saddle, and hastily set about the preparation of their morning meal.
Chapter XI.—Over the Prairie.
THERE is nothing that prepares one so well for the enjoyment of rest, both mental and physical, as a long protracted period of excitement and anxiety, followed up by bodily fatigue. Excitement alone banishes rest; but, united with severe physical exertion, it prepares for it. At least, courteous reader, this is our experience; and certainly this was the experience of our three hunters as they lay on their backs beneath the branches of a willow bush and gazed serenely up at the twinkling stars two days after their escape from the Indian village.
They spoke little; they were too tired for that, also they were too comfortable. Their respective suppers of fresh antelope steak, shot that day, had just been disposed of. Their feet were directed towards the small fire on which the said steaks had been cooked, and which threw a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment. Their blankets were wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked in as only hunters and mothers know how to tuck them in. Their respective pipes delivered forth, at stated intervals, three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if a three-gun battery were playing upon the sky from that particular spot of earth. The horses were picketed and hobbled in a rich grassy bottom close by, from which the quiet munch of their equine jaws sounded pleasantly, for it told of healthy appetites, and promised speed on the morrow. The fear of being overtaken during the night v/as now past, and the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and smell, guaranteed them against sudden attack during the hours of slumber. A perfume of wild flowers mingled with the loved odours of the “weed,” and the tinkle of a tiny rivulet, fell sweetly on their ears. In short, the “Pale-faces” were supremely happy, and disposed to be thankful for their recent deliverance and their present comforts.
“I wonder what the stars are,” said Dick, languidly taking the pipe out of his mouth.
“Bits o’ fire,” suggested Joe.
