season's supply
of buffalo beef. They hunt chiefly on horseback, with bow and arrow, or
lance, and sometimes the fusil, whereby they soon load their carts and
mules. They find no difficulty in curing their meat even in midsummer,
by slicing it thin, and spreading or suspending it in the sun; or, if in
haste, it is slightly barbecued. During the curing operation, they often
follow the Indian practice of beating the slices of meat with their
feet, which they say contributes to its preservation.

Here the extraordinary purity of the atmosphere of these regions is
remarkably exemplified. A line is stretched from corner to corner along
the side of the waggon body, and strung with slices of beef, which
remain from day to day till they are sufficiently cured to be packed up.
This is done without salt, and yet the meat rarely putrefies.

The optic deception of the rarefied and transparent atmosphere of these
elevated plains is truly remarkable. One might almost fancy oneself
looking through a spy-glass; for objects often appear at scarce
one-fourth of their real distance--frequently much magnified, and more
especially much elevated. I have often seen flocks of antelopes mistaken
for droves of elks or wild horses, and when at a great distance, even
for horsemen; whereby frequent alarms are occasioned. A herd of
buffaloes upon a distant plain often appear so elevated in height, that
they would be mistaken by the inexperienced for a large grove of trees.

But the most curious, and at the same time the most tormenting
phenomenon occasioned by optical deception, is the "mirage," or, as
commonly called by the Mexican travellers, "the lying waters." Even the
experienced prairie hunter is often deceived by these, upon the arid
plains, where the pool of water is in such request. The thirsty
wayfarer, after jogging for hours under a burning sky, at length espies
a pond--yes, it must be water--it looks too natural for him to be
mistaken. He quickens his pace, enjoying in anticipation the pleasures
of a refreshing draught; but, as he approaches, it recedes or entirely
disappears; and standing upon its apparent site, he is ready to doubt
his own vision, when he finds but a parched sand under his feet. It is
not until he has been thus a dozen times deceived, that he is willing to
relinquish the pursuit, and then, perhaps, when he really does see a
pond, he will pass it unexamined, from fear of another disappointment.

The philosophy of th