ders.

After we had remained four days at this camp we prepared to leave it.
We had for our own part about five hundred pounds of dried meat, and the
California men had prepared some three hundred more; this consisted
of the fattest and choicest parts of eight or nine cows, a very small
quantity only being taken from each, and the rest abandoned to the
wolves. The pack animals were laden, the horses were saddled, and the
mules harnessed to the cart. Even Tete Rouge was ready at last, and
slowly moving from the ground, we resumed our journey eastward. When
we had advanced about a mile, Shaw missed a valuable hunting knife and
turned back in search of it, thinking that he had left it at the camp.
He approached the place cautiously, fearful that Indians might be
lurking about, for a deserted camp is dangerous to return to. He saw
no enemy, but the scene was a wild and dreary one; the prairie was
overshadowed by dull, leaden clouds, for the day was dark and gloomy.
The ashes of the fires were still smoking by the river side; the grass
around them was trampled down by men and horses, and strewn with all the
litter of a camp. Our departure had been a gathering signal to the birds
and beasts of prey; Shaw assured me that literally dozens of wolves were
prowling about the smoldering fires, while multitudes were roaming over
the prairie around; they all fled as he approached, some running over
the sand-beds and some over the grassy plains. The vultures in great
clouds were soaring overhead, and the dead bull near the camp was
completely blackened by the flock that had alighted upon it; they
flapped their broad wings, and stretched upward their crested heads
and long skinny necks, fearing to remain, yet reluctant to leave their
disgusting feast. As he searched about the fires he saw the wolves
seated on the distant hills waiting for his departure. Having looked
in vain for his knife, he mounted again, and left the wolves and the
vultures to banquet freely upon the carrion of the camp.

CHAPTER XXVI

DOWN THE ARKANSAS

In the summer of 1846 the wild and lonely banks of the Upper Arkansas
beheld for the first time the passage of an army. General Kearny, on his
march to Santa Fe, adopted this route in preference to the old trail of
the Cimarron. When we came down the main body of the troops had already
passed on; Price's Missouri regiment, however, was still on the way,
having left the frontier much later than the rest; an