prairie for a considerable
distance. At this ludicrous termination of our chase, we followed the
example of our late ally, and turned back toward the party. We
were skirting the brink of a deep ravine, when we saw Henry and the
broad-chested pony coming toward us at a gallop.

"Here's old Papin and Frederic, down from Fort Laramie!" shouted Henry,
long before he came up. We had for some days expected this encounter.
Papin was the bourgeois of Fort Laramie. He had come down the river
with the buffalo robes and the beaver, the produce of the last winter's
trading. I had among our baggage a letter which I wished to commit to
their hands; so requesting Henry to detain the boats if he could until
my return, I set out after the wagons. They were about four miles in
advance. In half an hour I overtook them, got the letter, trotted back
upon the trail, and looking carefully, as I rode, saw a patch of broken,
storm-blasted trees, and moving near them some little black specks like
men and horses. Arriving at the place, I found a strange assembly. The
boats, eleven in number, deep-laden with the skins, hugged close to
the shore, to escape being borne down by the swift current. The rowers,
swarthy ignoble Mexicans, turned their brutish faces upward to look, as
I reached the bank. Papin sat in the middle of one of the boats upon the
canvas covering that protected the robes. He was a stout, robust fellow,
with a little gray eye, that had a peculiarly sly twinkle. "Frederic"
also stretched his tall rawboned proportions close by the bourgeois,
and "mountain-men" completed the group; some lounging in the boats, some
strolling on shore; some attired in gayly painted buffalo robes, like
Indian dandies; some with hair saturated with red paint, and beplastered
with glue to their temples; and one bedaubed with vermilion upon his
forehead and each cheek. They were a mongrel race; yet the French blood
seemed to predominate; in a few, indeed, might be seen the black snaky
eye of the Indian half-breed, and one and all, they seemed to aim at
assimilating themselves to their savage associates.

I shook hands with the bourgeois, and delivered the letter; then the
boats swung round into the stream and floated away. They had reason
for haste, for already the voyage from Fort Laramie had occupied a full
month, and the river was growing daily more shallow. Fifty times a
day the boats had been aground, indeed; those who navigate the Platte
invariably