in the event of its catching fire. I then took out
my tin box of lucifers, struck a light, and kindled
a fire: though not very easily, for the heavy dew
stood in great glistening beads on grass and
shrub, and the moistened wood emitted many a
cloud of pungent and dark smoke, before I could
coax the sullen embers to burst forth in the
required blaze. All this time, I had to give an
occasional halloo, rattling a tin cup against the
barrel of my revolver, for the purpose of
intimidating the wolves; while it was necessary to
pat and soothe by voice and hand the poor horse
itself, which was tugging at the tethering-rope
in a way that threatened to break it every
instant. At last, to my great joy, the fire leaped
up, red and cheery, its bright beams illumined
a little radiant patch of prairie, and, hovering in
the shadows on the edge of this illuminated
spot, I saw the slinking coyotés, the smallest
and most timid, but also the most cunning,
variety of the wolf of America. Presently
I flung a firebrand among the pack, and
they vanished into the darkness, but for half an
hour I could hear their howls of disappointment,
growing fainter and fainter, as the distance
increased. My horse was quieter after the
disappearance of the wolves, and in about an hour I
ventured to return to my blankets and my
repose, after piling a fresh heap of brush on the
steadily glowing fire. Not very long afterwards,
a feeling of intense cold awoke me by slow
degrees. I opened my eyes. The fire was low;
its embers glowed crimson, fading gradually into
blackness. Overhead was the dim sky, the vast
host of stars having the peculiar pale and sickly
hue which heralds the dawn. It was very cold.
There was a rushing sound in the air, and the
grass of the prairie was tossed to and fro in wild
confusion; a strong wind was blowing—the
norther. This was the first blast of the chilly
north wind that annually sets in at the close of
the unhealthy season in the south. It had a
piercing and glacial effect, coming, as it did,
from the Polar ice-fields, and across the Rocky
Mountain range; but I gladly hailed it, for I
remembered that it would be dead against the mail
steamer that was breasting the waters of the
Mexican Gulf with Joram Heckler and his
plunder on board. I might beat him yet!

But the wind increased in force; it was blowing
like a hurricane, and I shivered in spite of my
warm poncho and blankets. My horse had lain
down, and was trembling with cold. I was obliged
to spare him a blanket; he was a "States" horse,
swifter, but not so hardy and useful for prairie
travel as the mustangs of the plains. The wind
did not diminish as the sun rose, red and angry,
and a new cause of alarm began to haunt me. I
had heard of travellers utterly weatherbound for
days among the prairies, on account of the fury
of the resistless wind. And time was so valuable
to me! I felt sick at heart as the chilly
hours of early morning crept on, and almost
despaired of success. I was benumbed and
stiff; the dew had been turned to icicles by
the sudden cold; and now every waving blade
of grass seemed crested with a diamond, glittering
and flashing in the level sunshine. By
nine o'clock the wind began to abate; it
slackened very gradually, and at half-past
ten I considered that I might resume my
journey. My breakfast was not a luxurious one;
a mouthful of beef and parched maize, swallowed
in the intervals of saddling my horse and rolling
up my blankets. Then, I drew up the iron peg
to which the halter was attached, rolled up the
halter, lasso fashion, at my saddle bow, and
mounted. I was less awkward in the every-day
routine of prairie life than might be supposed.
Years ago, before I entered Spalding and
Hausermann's employ, I had spent some weeks in a
frontier fort, as the guest of the officers of a
United States Ranger regiment. I had
accompanied my hosts on several hunts and scouting
expeditions against hostile Indians, and had
found some amusement in picketing my steed,
lighting camp fires, and so forth: little dreaming
that my whole earthly happiness would
ever depend on my proficiency in such arts.
As the sun rose in the pale blue sky, nature
assumed a more cheerful appearance; the icicles
and hoar-frost melted, and the air became merely
bracing and agreeable, as the bitter cold passed
away. On we went, following the plain trail of
the waggon trains, up and down the gently rolling
slopes of the undulating prairie. I noticed
with some dismay that my horse was no longer
the mettled creature that had pranced so gaily out
of Carson the day before. At first he certainly
answered my voice and the pressure of my knee,
by stepping out gallantly; but after a while he
began to flag, bore heavily on the bit, and required
a frequent touch of the spur. It was clear I
had taxed his powers too severely on the
previous day. He was going weakly under me, in
a spiritless way that spoke volumes. What was
I to do? I had plenty of money, but money
cannot prove a talisman in the wilderness.
There was not a farm between the place where I
stood and the Great Salt Lake itself. My only
chance in procuring a remount lay in meeting
some one who would sell me a steed, and this
was far from a certainty. I was chewing the
cud of bitter reflections when I heard the light
tramp of a galloping horse behind me. Quickly
I turned my head, and saw a booted rider
dashing gaily along over the swells of the prairie;
his trim coat, half opened, showed a red flannel
shirt; and his Mexican sombrero was bound
with a cord of tarnished gold. He had a
revolving carbine pistol at his saddle-bow, and
at his side hung from his shoulder-belt his
leathern despatch-bag. It was my acquaintance
of yesterday—Shem Grindrod.

"Mornin', stranger!" he called out, cheerily;
"I didn't skear you, yesterday, it seems, by my
yarns about Injuns. 'Twas Gospel truth, for
all that. Camped out, I reckon? Your hoss
does look a little the wuss for wear, mister,
though. You've pushed him a goodish stretch,
you have."

We rode on for some distance side by side.
My poor horse was inspired to do his best by the
presence of the other horse, and together we