and, his beautiful head dress
of war-eagle plumes on his head, his shield and quiver at his side,
and his pipe and medicine bag. His tobacco pouch was filled, to supply
him on his journey to the hunting-grounds of his fathers; and he had
flint and steel wherewith to light his pipe by the way. Every warrior
painted his hand with vermilion, and then pressed it against the white
horse, leaving a mark behind him. After the necessary ceremonies had
been performed, Blackbird and his white war-horse were covered over
with turf, till they were no more seen.

_Austin._ But was the white horse buried alive?

_Hunter._ He was. The turfs were put about his feet, then piled up his
legs, then placed against his sides, then over his back, and lastly
over Blackbird himself and his war-eagle plumes.

_Brian._ That was a very cruel deed! They had no business to smother
that beautiful white horse in that way.

_Basil._ And so I say. It was a great shame, and I do not like that
Blackbird.

_Hunter._ Indians have strange customs. Now I am on the subject of
prairie scenes, I ought to speak a word of the prairies on the Red
River. I had been for some time among the Creeks and Choctaws,
crossing, here and there, ridges of wooded lands, and tracts of rich
herbage, with blue mountains in the distance, when I came to a prairie
scene of a new character. For miles together the ground was covered
with vines, bearing endless clusters of large delicious grapes; and
then, after crossing a few broad valleys of green turf, our progress
was stopped by hundreds of acres of plum trees, bending to the very
ground with their fruit. Among these were interspersed patches of rose
trees, wild currants, and gooseberries, with prickly pears, and the
most beautiful and sweet-scented wild flowers.

_Austin._ I never heard of so delightful a place. What do you think of
the prairies now, Basil? Should you not like to gather some of those
fruits and flowers, Brian?

_Hunter._ And then just as I was stretching out my hand to gather some
of the delicious produce of that paradise of fruit and flowers, I
heard the sound of a rattlesnake, that was preparing to make a spring,
and immediately I saw the glistening eyes of a copper-head, which I
had disturbed beneath the tendrils and leaves.

_Basil._ What do you think of the prairie now, Austin?

_Brian._ And should you not like to gather some of those fruits and
flowers?

_Austin._ I never suspected that there wou