as the spring progresses.
Look, Mr Rawlings," he added, "that buffalo grass, as it is called,
there in front of you, is growing rapidly and will soon be breast high,
don't you see?"

"That's right enough," said he. "But your remark reminds me of the old
proverb about `live horse and you'll get oats.' I wish we could get
something now to go along with until the buffalo do come northwards.
I'm sure I am more sick than ever of that monotonous salt pork, after
that taste of mountain mutton we had the other day."

"You bet," said Seth laconically, with much emphasis.

And then the party resumed their trudge over the billowy surface of the
prairie, directing their quest towards a clump of trees they could
perceive in the distance, at a place where the ground shelved downwards
into a hollow, the certain sign of the near vicinity of some tributary
of the Missouri coursing its way eastwards, amidst the recesses of whose
wooded banks it was possible that traces of game might be found--that
game which they were already well-nigh weary of seeking. To tell the
truth, however, their want of success was not at all surprising, as the
experience of the hunting party was extremely limited.

The Indian half-breed and Noah Webster, the two who were the most
practically versed in the secrets of woodcraft, and thoroughly
acquainted with all the various hunting dodges practised out on the
prairie, had been left behind in camp, especially at Seth Allport's
request, that amiable worthy wishing to distinguish himself by bringing
home a deer "on his own hook," as he expressed it; although, as regards
his shooting powers, he was far more dangerous to his friends than any
object he might aim at, being likely rather to hit those behind or on
either side of him than the animal at which he pointed his weapon in
front; while, as for his skill in the stealthy approach of his prey in
the fashion adopted by skilled deer-stalkers, it may be mentioned that
he strode through the tall prairie-grass and brushwood as incontinently
as if he were marching up and down the poop of the _Susan Jane_ in a
gale of wind, alarming every winged and four-footed creature for miles
round!

Touching the others, Mr Rawlings and Ernest Wilton were both good
shots, although not very familiar with "the noble arte of venerie," as
hunting the deer was styled in the days of Shakespeare, who is reported,
by the way, to have been an adept in the pursuit: while, of course,
Sai