where poor Shem was lying beside the corpses
of his copper-hued foes, stiff and stark.

The brindled mustang was fat and lazy,
compared with the nimble cream-coloured pony on
which my guide was mounted. It took all my
exertions to overtake 'Demus Blake, whose
name was probably Aristodemus, though thus
curtailed by usage. We rode at a tremendous
pace.

"Larrup your beast, colonel," cried the
rider, "we're woful behind. Don't be stingy
with the spur-iron, for that brindle does allays
shirk when he can. Mind—'ware the sappy
ground, where you see them clubby mosses!
Jordan! they'd take a hoss up to the girths,
and there you'd stop, like a tree'd coon. Push
on, sir. Rattle him across them riv'lets: not
that a parara hoss can jump like the critters
from the U-nited States."

It struck me that 'Demus Blake was bawling
and flogging in this excited way, for no other
purpose than to quiet his own nerves, and
drown care. I was confirmed in this view by
the fact that, after six or seven miles had been
swallowed up by the rapid career of our foam-
flecked steeds, the rider reined his horse into a
steady hand-gallop.

"There, mister," said he, "we'll go quiet
now. I feels kiender easier under my left ribs.
Tell'ee, colonel, little as you think it, to look at
such as me, I was as near making the biggest
baby of myself—there, I was! Poor boy Shem!
I knowed him, sir, oncommon well, and
oncommon long. We played about together, when we
were as high as a ramrod, in Pequottie
village, nigh to Utica, in old Kentuck. And
when old Amos and my daddy, Jonathan Blake,
calculated to move west, they chose the same
location. Sad news for old Amos—a white-
haired old chap now, but pretty tough, too. He's
at Brown's Hole—no, at Round Pond—trading
for peltry. I wouldn't care to have the tellin'
on him."

The rider was silent for a good while after
this. He did not speak again till I paid a
merited tribute to Shem's courage. I had found
him, I said, fronting seven Indians like a stag at
bay. The frontiers-man's eye glittered proudly:

"A brave boy, sir. I was with him, first
fight—that is, Shem's first, cause I'm two year
an older man. 'Twarn't hereaway. South of
Fremont's Pass it wur, and bloody Blackfoot
Indians war the inimy, three to one, on'y they'd
no fire-arms. 'Twarn't child's play that day,
mister!" The backwoodsman expanded his
broad chest, while his nostrils dilated, and his
lips tightened, as he recalled the arduous
struggle long past.

He was a much stronger man than Shem, of
a spirit less gay and lightsome, but not without
a certain amount of rude practical poetry in his
disposition. He knew Shem's sweetheart: a
very nice-looking girl, of rather a quiet, subdued,
and pious nature. "Not too common on the
border, nouther, where even gals mostly has a
spice of the wild-cat, but, mebbe, that pleased
Shem."

Of the distress in store for old Amos Grindrod:
a hunter, once renowned for his prowess
and skill, whether in warfare of the chase:
Blake spoke feelingly and with deep conviction.

"'Twill shorten the old man's days, sir,
but it's lucky the old woman's not alive to
hear it: she was that tender of Shem, if his
finger ached she'd flutter like a robbed hen.
Good old soul she was, Mrs. Grindrod, and
nursed my old mother when she took the fever
in that murderin' swamp."

Honest 'Demus had too much innate good-
breeding to be inquisitive as to the purpose of my
unusual journey. In this respect, as in some
others, he far surpassed in tact and politeness
many an accomplished citizen in varnished boots
and satin vest. But he offered me some well-
meant advice.

"Take it coolly," said he, "and don't flurry
yourself, colonel. You've got more colour in
your cheeks than need be, and your hand was
as hot, when I shook it, as a bit of deer-meat
toastin' over the fire. I don't know as you
ain't right, shirking the whisky, though 'tis food
and comfort to such as me. But a smart touch
of fever would tie you by the leg, stranger, so
don't fret overly, and sleep all you can. As for
Injuns, they'll hardly trouble two white men,
when there's nouthin' to be got but a kipple of
nags that can be bought for a cast of the lasso,
or larist. The emigrant trains is different, for
the Red devils scent plunder in the waggons,
and only the dragoons skear 'em. Twar spite
med the Mad Buffalo fall on Shem Grindrod.
Shem give him a coat o' tar and turkey feathers
one night, at Bridger's Fort, when the Injun
got so drunk with whisky some rascal sold him,
he lay like a hog on the ground. They never
forgive, them Injuns. Shoshonies have no pity,
compared to the savages east of the Rocky
Mountains. Keep a look out for outlying war
parties, mister, when you get to the mountain
parks. Crows will take hoss and clothes;
Blackfeet allays hanker arter ha'r!"

I took my guide's well-meant advice, and
endeavoured to get through the journey as
phlegmatically as might be. I snatched every
opportunity of repose, if only for a few minutes,
while the reeking saddles were being shifted to
the backs of fresh horses; and it is wonderful
how much refreshment I at times derived
from a nap so brief as not much to exceed
the traditional "forty winks." More than once,
my companion said to me, "Colonel, you're
about dropping with sleep. Shut your eyes, if
you like, and give me your reins. I'll guide
both hosses, and you can't hardly roll out of
that cradle o' yourn." And, indeed, the deep
Mexican saddle of demipique cut, which I had
luckily provided on starting, was admirably
adapted, with its lofty pommel and cantel, to
the use of a dozing equestrian. Curious spells
of slumber those were, when my head would nod
like that of a porcelain mandarin, and my eyelids
droop as if weighted with lead, and when, after
a few minutes, I would start up, broad awake,
as my mustang stumbled over broken ground.