It's the best cure; an' when hunters are young like
you, Dick, it's the only cure. I've knowed fellers a'most die o'
home-sickness, an' I'm told they _do_ go under altogether sometimes."
"Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I
fust try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be here
to-day."
Henri's idea of home-sickness was so totally opposed to theirs that
his comrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set him
right.
"The fust time I wos took bad with it wos in a country somethin' like
that," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie,
dotted with clusters of trees and meandering streamlets, that lay
before them. "I had bin out about two months, an' was makin' a good
thing of it, for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow more
than usual o' home. My mother wos alive then."
Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a few
minutes he rode on in silence.
"Well, it grew worse and worse. I dreamed o' home all night an'
thought of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos
gittin' tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, 'I give out,
lads; I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.
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