?" I asked
May.

"Why," said she, "we can never tell when he will be in camp and when
away; he's off scouting nearly all the time. And we can't get up a
buffalo-hunt on five minutes' notice; we must plan ahead. Our party is
all ready to start, and there's a reporter here from an Omaha paper to
write it up. We can't put it off, and you must go."

After that, of course, there was nothing more to be said, and when the
hunting-party set forth I made one of it.

A gay party it was. For men, there were a number of officers, and the
newspaper man, Dr. Frank Powell, now of La Crosser for women, the wives
of two of the officers, the daughters of General Augur, May, and myself.
There was sunshine, laughter, and incessant chatter, and when one is
young and fond of horseback-riding, and a handsome young officer rides
by one's side, physical fatigue is apt to vanish for a time.

The fort was soon nothing but a break in the sky-line, and with a
sense almost of awe I looked for the first time upon the great American
Desert. To our left, as we rode eastward, ran the swift and shallow
Platte, dotted with green-garbed islands. This river Washington Irving
called "the most magnificent and the most useless of streams" "The
islands," he wrote, "have the appearance of a labyrinth of groves
floating on the waters. Their extraordinary position gives an air
of youth and loveliness to the whole scene. If to this be added the
undulations of the river, the waving of the verdure, the alternations
of light and shade, and the purity of the atmosphere, some idea may
be formed of the pleasing sensations which the traveler experiences on
beholding a scene that seems to have started fresh from the hands of the
Creator."

In sharp contrast was the sandy plain over which we rode. On this grew
the short, stubby buffalo-grass, the dust-colored sage-brush, and cactus
in rank profusion. Over to the right, perhaps a mile away, a long range
of foothills ran down to the horizon, with here and there the great
canons, through which entrance was effected to the upland country, each
canon bearing a historical or legendary name.

To my eyes the picture was as beautiful as it was novel. As far as
one could see there was no sign of human habitation. It was one vast,
untenanted waste, with the touch of infinity the ocean wears.

As we began to get into the foothills, one of our equestriennes narrowly
escaped a fall. Her horse dropped a foot into a prairie-dog's h