The task of the drivers was for the most part simple, as the flat floor of the prairies stretched away evenly mile after mile, the horses jogging along dejectedly but steadily over the unbroken short gray grass, ignorant and careless of any road or trail.

At night they slept beneath the stars, uncovered by any tent, and saluted constantly by the whining coyotes, whose vocalization was betimes broken by the hoarser, roaring note of the great gray buffalo wolf.  At morn they awoke to an air surcharged with some keen elixir which gave delight in sense of living.  The subtle fragrance of the plains, born of no fruit or flower, but begotten of the sheer cleanliness of the thrice-pure air, came to their nostrils as they actually snuffed the day.  So came the sun himself, with heralds of pink and royal purple, with banners of flaming red and gold.  At this the coyotes saluted yet more shrilly and generally.  The lone gray wolf, sentinel on some neighbouring ridge, looked down, contemptuous in his wisdom.  Perhaps a band of antelope tarried at some crest.  Afar upon the morning air came the melodious trumpeting of wild fowl, rising from some far-off unknown roosting place and setting forth upon errand of their own.  All around lay a new world, a wild world, a virgin sphere not yet acquaint with man.  Phoenicians of the earthy seas, these travellers daily fared on into regions absolutely new.

Early upon the morning of the fourth day of their journey the travellers noted that the plain began to rise and sink in longer waves.  Presently they found themselves approaching a series of rude and wild-looking hills of sand, among which they wound deviously as they might, confronted often by forbidding buttes and lofty dunes whose only sign of vegetation was displayed in a ragged fringe of grass which waved like a scalp lock here and there upon the summits.  For many miles they travelled through this difficult and cheerless region, the horses soon showing signs of distress and all the party feeling need of water, of which the supply had been exhausted.  It was nearly noon while they were still involved in this perplexing region, and as none of the party had ever seen the country before, none could tell how long it might be before they would emerge from it.  They pushed on in silence, intent upon what might be ahead, so that when there came an exclamation from the half-witted Mexican, whose stolid silence under most circumstances had become a proverb among them, each face was at once turned toward him.

“Eh, what’s that, Juan?” said Curly—­“Say, boys, he says we’re about out of the sand hills.  Prairie pretty soon now, he says.”

“And will ye tell me, now,” said Battersleigh, “how the haythen knows a bit more of it than we oursilves?  He’s never been here before.  I’m thinkin’ it’s pure guess he’s givin’ us, me boy.”

“No, sir,” said Curly, positively.  “If Juan says a thing like that, he knows.  I don’t know how he knows it, but he shore does, and I’ll gamble on him every time.  You see, he ain’t hardly like folks, that feller.  He’s more like a critter.  He knows a heap of things that you and me don’t.”