true, and that he had never
been out before among those mountains without killing two or three deer
at least.

We now turned toward the distant encampment. As we rode along, antelope
in considerable numbers were flying lightly in all directions over the
plain, but not one of them would stand and be shot at. When we reached
the foot of the mountain ridge that lay between us and the village, we
were too impatient to take the smooth and circuitous route; so turning
short to the left, we drove our wearied animals directly upward among
the rocks. Still more antelope were leaping about among these flinty
hillsides. Each of us shot at one, though from a great distance, and
each missed his mark. At length we reached the summit of the last ridge.
Looking down, we saw the bustling camp in the valley at our feet, and
ingloriously descended to it. As we rode among the lodges, the Indians
looked in vain for the fresh meat that should have hung behind our
saddles, and the squaws uttered various suppressed ejaculations, to the
great indignation of Reynal. Our mortification was increased when
we rode up to his lodge. Here we saw his young Indian relative, the
Hail-Storm, his light graceful figure on the ground in an easy attitude,
while with his friend the Rabbit, who sat by his side, he was making an
abundant meal from a wooden bowl of wasna, which the squaw had placed
between them. Near him lay the fresh skin of a female elk, which he had
just killed among the mountains, only a mile or two from the camp. No
doubt the boy's heart was elated with triumph, but he betrayed no sign
of it. He even seemed totally unconscious of our approach, and his
handsome face had all the tranquillity of Indian self-control;
a self-control which prevents the exhibition of emotion, without
restraining the emotion itself. It was about two months since I had
known the Hail-Storm, and within that time his character had remarkably
developed. When I first saw him, he was just emerging from the habits
and feelings of the boy into the ambition of the hunter and warrior. He
had lately killed his first deer, and this had excited his aspirations
after distinction. Since that time he had been continually in search
of game, and no young hunter in the village had been so active or
so fortunate as he. It will perhaps be remembered how fearlessly he
attacked the buffalo bull, as we were moving toward our camp at the
Medicine-Bow Mountain. All this success had produced a