he rocks. "Where _is_
my hat? Boys, did any o' ye see anything o' a hat, did ye?" His shouts
again awoke the sleepers.

"What sort of a hat, Lige?" inquired one.

"A black hat--that Mexican sombrera."

"Oh! a black hat; no--I saw no black hat."

"You darned Dutchman! who do you expect could see a black hat such a
night as this, or a white one eyther? Go to sleep!"

"Come, boys, I don't want none o' your nonsense: I want my hat. Who's
tuk my hat?"

"Are you sure it was a black hat?"

"Bah! the wind has carried it away."

"Pe gar! Monsieur Quack'bosh--votre chapeau grand--you great beeg 'at--
est-il perdu?--is loss?--c'est vrai? Pardieu! les loups--ze wolfs have
it carr'd avay--have it mange--eat? c'est vrai?"

"None o' your gibberish, Frenchy. Have _you_ tuk my hat?"

"Moi! votre chapeau grand! No, Monsieur Quack'bosh--vraiment je ne l'ai
pas; pe gar, no!"

"Have _you_ got it, Stanfield?" asked the botanist, addressing himself
to a Kentucky backwoodsman of that name.

"Dang yar hat! What shed I do wi' yar hat? I've got my own hat, and
that's hat enough for me."

"Have _you_ my hat, Bill Black?"

"No," was the prompt reply; "I've got neery hat but my own, and that
ain't black, I reckon, 'cept on sich a night as this."

"I tell you what, Lige, old fellow! you lost your hat while you were a
ridin' the mustang just now: the hoss kicked it off o' your head."

A chorus of laughter followed this sally, in the midst of which
Quackenboss could be heard apostrophising both his hat and his comrades
in no very respectful terms, while he commenced scrambling over the
ground in vain search after the lost sombrero, amidst the jokes and
laughter uttered at his expense.

To this merriment of my followers I gave but little heed: my thoughts
were intent on other things. My eyes were fixed upon that bright spot
in the sky, that had been pointed out by Rube; and my heart gladdened,
as I perceived that it was every moment growing brighter and bigger.

The rain still fell thick and fast; but the edge of the cloud-curtain
was slowly rising above the eastern horizon, as though drawn up by some
invisible hand.

Should the movement continue, I felt confident that in a few minutes--as
Rube had predicted--the sky would be clear again, and the moon shining
brightly as ever. These were joyous anticipations.

At intervals I glanced towards the prairie, and listened to catch some
sound--either the voices of the tra