ate for a moment, but pelted down above our heads with
merciless fury.

Before long the ground beneath us became soaked with moisture, and the
water gathered there in a pool two or three inches deep; so that for a
considerable part of the night we were partially immersed in a cold
bath. In spite of all this, Tete Rouge's flow of spirits did not desert
him for an instant; he laughed, whistled, and sung in defiance of the
storm, and that night he paid off the long arrears of ridicule which he
owed us. While we lay in silence, enduring the infliction with what
philosophy we could muster, Tete Rouge, who was intoxicated with animal
spirits, was cracking jokes at our expense by the hour together.

At about three o'clock in the morning, "preferring the tyranny of the
open night" to such a wretched shelter, we crawled out from beneath the
fallen canvas. The wind had abated, but the rain fell steadily. The fire
of the California men still blazed amid the darkness, and we joined them
as they sat around it. We made ready some hot coffee by way of
refreshment; but when some of the party sought to replenish their cups,
it was found that Tete Rouge, having disposed of his own share, had
privately abstracted the coffee-pot and drunk up the rest of the
contents out of the spout.

In the morning, to our great joy, an unclouded sun rose upon the
prairie. We presented rather a laughable appearance, for the cold and
clammy buckskin, saturated with water, clung fast to our limbs; the
light wind and warm sunshine soon dried them again, and then we were all
incased in armor of intolerable rigidity. Roaming all day over the
prairie and shooting two or three bulls, were scarcely enough to restore
the stiffened leather to its usual pliancy.

A great flock of buzzards were usually soaring about a few trees that
stood on the island just below our camp. Throughout the whole of
yesterday we had noticed an eagle among them; to-day he was still
there; and Tete Rouge, declaring that he would kill the bird of America,
borrowed Delorier's gun and set out on his unpatriotic mission. As might
have been expected, the eagle suffered no great harm at his hands. He
soon returned, saying that he could not find him, but had shot a buzzard
instead. Being required to produce the bird in proof of his assertion,
he said he believed that he was not quite dead, but he must be hurt,
from the swiftness with which he flew off.

"If you want," said Tete Rouge, "I'll