These sons of the wilderness still
survive. We may find them to this day, not in the valley of the Ohio,
nor on the shores of the lakes, but far westward on the desert range of
the buffalo, and among the solitudes of Oregon. Even now, while I write,
some lonely trapper is climbing the perilous defiles of the Rocky
Mountains, his strong frame cased in time-worn buck-skin, his rifle
griped in his sinewy hand. Keenly he peers from side to side, lest
Blackfoot or Arapahoe should ambuscade his path. The rough earth is his
bed, a morsel of dried meat and a draught of water are his food and
drink, and death and danger his companions. No anchorite could fare
worse, no hero could dare more; yet his wild, hard life has resistless
charms; and while he can wield a rifle, he will never leave it. Go with
him to the rendezvous, and he is a stoic no more. Here, rioting among
his comrades, his native appetites break loose in mad excess, in deep
carouse, and desperate gaming. Then follow close the quarrel, the
challenge, the fight,--two rusty rifles and fifty yards of prairie.
* * * * *
From "The Discovery of the Great West."
=_146._= EXPLORATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.
The river twisted among the lakes and marshes choked with wild rice;
and, but for their guides, they could scarcely have followed the
perplexed and narrow channel.
Pages:
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305