set forth, with Cudjo and the horse.

"We could see the white tilt of the wagon from the very start; and we
had no difficulty in guiding ourselves to it.

"As we passed onward, I was reflecting whether the wolves had not
already made a meal of our poor ox that we had left by the wagon. If
not, it was my intention to skin him, and save the meat, lean and tough
as it must be--for the animal, when we left him, looked like some dry
skeleton to be preserved in a museum. Still I saw before us no prospect
of a better breakfast, and I began to grow very anxious as to whether we
might find a bit of him left. At this moment, I was startled from my
reflections by an exclamation from Cudjo, who had stopped suddenly, and
was pointing to some object directly ahead of us. I looked forward; and
saw in the dim light something that very much resembled a large
quadruped.

"`P'raps, Massa,' whispered Cudjo, `him be de buffler.'

"`Perhaps it is a buffalo; but what is to be done? I have left my
rifle. Here! take the horse, and I will endeavour to get near enough to
kill it with my pistols.'

"Giving Cudjo the horse, and cautioning him to be silent, I drew the
largest of my pistols, and crept silently forward. I went upon my hands
and knees, and very slowly, so as not to give the animal an alarm. As I
got nearer, I felt sure it was a buffalo; but the moon had not yet
risen, and I could see its form but very indistinctly. At length, I
believed I had it within range of my pistol; at least, thought I, if I
go any nearer it will make off; so I halted--still upon my knees--and
made ready to fire. As I raised my weapon, the horse suddenly neighed;
and, in answer to his neigh, the strange animal uttered a loud roar,
which I knew to be nothing else than the bellowing of an ox! And so it
proved, as it was neither more nor less than our own ox, who had left
the wagon, and was slowly making his way for the mountain. The cool air
had somewhat revived him, and instinct, or a knowledge of the way we had
gone, was guiding him in that direction.

"I know not whether I was more pleased or disappointed at meeting our
old companion. A good fat buffalo would have been more welcome at the
time than a famished ox; but when I reflected that he might yet help us
to get out of the Desert, I felt that we were fortunate in finding him
still alive. The horse and he put their noses together, evidently
pleased at again meeting each other; and I could