But all our hopes were delusive.  Scarcely had night set in, when the tumult broke forth anew.  The thunder here is not like the tame thunder of the Atlantic coast.  Bursting with a terrific crash directly above our heads, it roared over the boundless waste of prairie, seeming to roll around the whole circle of the firmament with a peculiar and awful reverberation.  The lightning flashed all night, playing with its livid glare upon the neighboring trees, revealing the vast expanse of the plain, and then leaving us shut in as by a palpable wall of darkness.

It did not disturb us much.  Now and then a peal awakened us, and made us conscious of the electric battle that was raging, and of the floods that dashed upon the stanch canvas over our heads.  We lay upon india-rubber cloths, placed between our blankets and the soil.  For a while they excluded the water to admiration; but when at length it accumulated and began to run over the edges, they served equally well to retain it, so that toward the end of the night we were unconsciously reposing in small pools of rain.

On finally awaking in the morning the prospect was not a cheerful one.  The rain no longer poured in torrents; but it pattered with a quiet pertinacity upon the strained and saturated canvas.  We disengaged ourselves from our blankets, every fiber of which glistened with little beadlike drops of water, and looked out in vain hope of discovering some token of fair weather.  The clouds, in lead-colored volumes, rested upon the dismal verge of the prairie, or hung sluggishly overhead, while the earth wore an aspect no more attractive than the heavens, exhibiting nothing but pools of water, grass beaten down, and mud well trampled by our mules and horses.  Our companions’ tent, with an air of forlorn and passive misery, and their wagons in like manner, drenched and woe-begone, stood not far off.  The captain was just returning from his morning’s inspection of the horses.  He stalked through the mist and rain, with his plaid around his shoulders; his little pipe, dingy as an antiquarian relic, projecting from beneath his mustache, and his brother Jack at his heels.

“Good-morning, captain.”

“Good-morning to your honors,” said the captain, affecting the Hibernian accent; but at that instant, as he stooped to enter the tent, he tripped upon the cords at the entrance, and pitched forward against the guns which were strapped around the pole in the center.

“You are nice men, you are!” said he, after an ejaculation not necessary to be recorded, “to set a man-trap before your door every morning to catch your visitors.”

Then he sat down upon Henry Chatillon’s saddle.  We tossed a piece of buffalo robe to Jack, who was looking about in some embarrassment.  He spread it on the ground, and took his seat, with a stolid countenance, at his brother’s side.

“Exhilarating weather, captain!”

“Oh, delightful, delightful!” replied the captain.  “I knew it would be so; so much for starting yesterday at noon!  I knew how it would turn out; and I said so at the time.”