ptured the young buffaloes on the upper plains, and
tamed them, and made cheese and butter from their milk;--how we reared
up the kittens of the cougar and the cubs of the black bear;--how the
wild geese, and swans, and cranes, and pelicans, migrated to our lake,
and became quite tame with us;--how Cudjo and I with our horses made a
journey across the Desert to the `Camp of Sorrow,' as we called the
place where our friends had been massacred;--how we picked out two of
the best of the wagons, and with the gunpowder which we took from the
bomb-shells and many other useful articles, returned again to our
valley. These, and many other adventures with wolves and wolverenes,
with panthers and peccaries, and porcupines and opossums, I might detail
to you; but no doubt you are already wearied with the length of my
story.

"It is now nearly ten years since our arrival in this valley oasis.
During all that time, we have lived contented and happy; and God has
favoured our efforts, and crowned them with success. But our children
have grown up almost wild, as you see,--with no other education than
that which we ourselves have been able to impart to them; and we are
anxious on their account once more to return to the civilised world. It
is our intention then to proceed to Saint Louis in the spring. For this
purpose, we have everything ready--our wagons, and horses, and furs--all
except those which we intend to trap in the ensuing winter. I know not
whether we may ever return to this sweet spot--though it will be always
dear to us from a thousand memories. That will depend upon
circumstances arising in the future, and which we cannot now foresee.
It is our intention, however, on leaving the valley, to throw open their
bars and set all our captives free--to let them return once more to
their wild independence.

"And now, my friends, I have but one request to make of you. It is late
in the season. You have lost your trail; and, as you all know, it is
very perilous to attempt crossing the prairies in winter. Remain with
me, then, until spring; and let us all go together. The winter will be
a short one; and I shall endeavour to make it pass pleasantly for you.
I can promise you plenty of hunting adventures; and, when the proper
season arrives, we shall have a grand _battue_ of the beavers. Speak,
then! What say you to remain?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I need hardly tell you