meanwhile on the extent of the injuries Pontiac had received.  At length the white wagon coverings rose from the verge of the plain.  By a singular coincidence, almost at the same moment two horsemen appeared coming down from the hills.  They were Shaw and Henry, who had searched for me a while in the morning, but well knowing the futility of the attempt in such a broken country, had placed themselves on the top of the highest hill they could find, and picketing their horses near them, as a signal to me, had laid down and fallen asleep.  The stray cattle had been recovered, as the emigrants told us, about noon.  Before sunset, we pushed forward eight miles farther.

June 7, 1846.—­Four men are missing; R., Sorel and two emigrants.  They set out this morning after buffalo, and have not yet made their appearance; whether killed or lost, we cannot tell.

I find the above in my notebook, and well remember the council held on the occasion.  Our fire was the scene of it; or the palpable superiority of Henry Chatillon’s experience and skill made him the resort of the whole camp upon every question of difficulty.  He was molding bullets at the fire, when the captain drew near, with a perturbed and care-worn expression of countenance, faithfully reflected on the heavy features of Jack, who followed close behind.  Then emigrants came straggling from their wagons toward the common center; various suggestions were made to account for the absence of the four men, and one or two of the emigrants declared that when out after the cattle they had seen Indians dogging them, and crawling like wolves along the ridges of the hills.  At this time the captain slowly shook his head with double gravity, and solemnly remarked: 

“It’s a serious thing to be traveling through this cursed wilderness”; an opinion in which Jack immediately expressed a thorough coincidence.  Henry would not commit himself by declaring any positive opinion.

“Maybe he only follow the buffalo too far; maybe Indian kill him; maybe he got lost; I cannot tell!”

With this the auditors were obliged to rest content; the emigrants, not in the least alarmed, though curious to know what had become of their comrades, walked back to their wagons and the captain betook himself pensively to his tent.  Shaw and I followed his example.

“It will be a bad thing for our plans,” said he as we entered, “if these fellows don’t get back safe.  The captain is as helpless on the prairie as a child.  We shall have to take him and his brother in tow; they will hang on us like lead.”

“The prairie is a strange place,” said I.  “A month ago I should have thought it rather a startling affair to have an acquaintance ride out in the morning and lose his scalp before night, but here it seems the most natural thing in the world; not that I believe that R. has lost his yet.”

If a man is constitutionally liable to nervous apprehensions, a tour on the distant prairies would prove the best prescription; for though when in the neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains he may at times find himself placed in circumstances of some danger, I believe that few ever breathe that reckless atmosphere without becoming almost indifferent to any evil chance that may befall themselves or their friends.