CHAPTER XII

OUR CAMP ON WALNUT CREEK

Next morning at breakfast I said:

"How was it, Tom, that when we were buying our outfit at Leavenworth we forgot to get a compass? That is a pretty useful thing in travelling across the prairie, where there is no road or trail to follow?"

"Well," replied Tom, "it would be handy to have a compass, but we haven't got one and so we'll have to do the next best thing, and thank the Lord I have a good watch to run our course by."

"What!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean that you can tell the points of the compass by a watch?" And Jack chimed in: "I never heard of the like."

"If you live long enough, young fellows, you may find out that there are some other things you never heard of. Look here, I'll explain to you how it's done," and Tom pulled his big silver watch out of his pocket, opened it, and put it on the table.

"You turn the watch so that the hour-hand points to the sun; then measure just half-way to the figure twelve on the dial in the shortest direction, and that will be south. Of course, the opposite point will be north, and you can tell east or west.

"If you get it firmly fixed in your mind that, with the hour-hand of a watch pointing to the sun, half-way between that and the figure twelve in the shortest direction on the dial is south, you can always get the points of the compass when the sun is shining."

"Whoever taught you that watch trick, Tom?" I asked.

"First Lieutenant James E. B. Stuart, late of G Company, First Cavalry, and now an officer in the rebel army, learnt me that once when I was out on a scout with him in the mountains and we got lost," answered Tom. "It was cloudy and we wandered about in every direction except the right one, as lost men will do. After a while the sun came out for a little while and I saw Jeb halt, take out his watch, and look at the sun. Then he said: 'Now, I have got it. The trail is off in this direction,' pointing with his right hand, while he held the watch in the left. Then he called to me: 'Come here, sergeant, and I will show you how to tell north and south by a watch. It may be useful to you some day.' And then he explained it to me, and many's the time it has been useful."

By the time we had everything packed up after breakfast and the team strung out, the sun was up and we started north.

We ran a fairly straight line, bearing a little to the west, to the head of Ash Creek, which we found here to be only a prairie hollow destitute of water and timber. Before reaching Ash Creek we had begun to see plenty of buffalo in every direction except toward Fort Larned.

On reaching the high prairie north of Ash Creek we could see away to the north the distant line of timber that marked the course of Walnut Creek. A heavy body of timber was seen right ahead, and in line with our course, that Tom rightly conjectured was at the mouth of the little creek emptying into the Walnut, where French Dave had told him we would find a suitable location for a winter camp. Toward this we directed our course.

It was but little past noon when we reached the edge of the timber near the junction of the little branch and Walnut Creek, and we found here an ideal spot for our purpose--a snug camp and good hunting and trapping ground.

"We'll camp here for the night," said Tom as he dismounted, "an' to-morrow we'll look the neighborhood over thoroughly an' decide where to pitch our permanent layout."

As we had found no water on the road we had made this drive from Pawnee Fork without our usual halt for noon and decided to have our dinner and supper in one about the middle of the afternoon. After turning out the stock, bringing wood and water, and pitching the tent, while Tom was preparing the meal, Jack and I separately rambled off to do a little exploring of our immediate neighborhood. In doing so I found a prairie ravine, not far from our camp, in which there was considerable standing water at a distance of about three hundred yards from the timber on Walnut Creek. I wondered at this water, but on following the ravine down to the creek I discovered a beaver dam built across the creek, in which a number of the dome-shaped huts were standing, and saw other evidences of the presence of a populous colony of these industrious animals. The water I had seen up the ravine was backwater caused by the dam.

At Tom's call of "grub pile" I hurried back to camp to acquaint my comrades with my discovery, only to learn that Jack had found the beaver dam before I had and, having rushed back to the wagon, was now busy getting out our steel traps preparatory to setting them for beaver.

As we sat around the mess-chest eating, Tom, between mouthfuls, explained his ideas about the establishing of our winter camp.

"This big timber here is in the right place to shelter us from the northwest winds. We must also remember that we've got to protect ourselves and stock against a surprise by hostile Injuns. I ain't looking for trouble of that kind, but it's always best to be prepared for such emergencies. So I think it'll be best to move out to the bank of that ravine Peck spoke about, say two or three hundred yards from the timber, which will still furnish us good protection from the northwesters. In case of hostilities the water in the ravine can't be cut off from us. Into the banks of that ravine we'll dig our dugouts--one for ourselves, on one side, and a stable for the stock on the other side, opposite and facing each other. We'll cut and split some slabs in the timber and lay a sort of a floor across the ravine, for a gangway, and it'll be as handy as a pocket in a shirt.

"Now, Peck, while Jack goes to set his traps for beaver, suppose you saddle up Black Prince and go out and kill a buffalo calf or yearling and bring in a quarter or so of fresh meat. And, as there's plenty of time yet before night, while you're at it you may as well make a complete circuit of the camp, say about a mile or two out, and see if there's anybody or any sign of anybody in this neighborhood besides ourselves."

"Tom," I said, "I believe it would be better for me to go out and kill a yearling first and bring in some meat and then take a ride around the country afterward; for if I kill the yearling first and leave the carcass till I make the circuit of the camp the wolves will get away with the meat before I get back to it; and if I make the round first before killing our meat I'll be scaring all the near buffalo away."

"You're right," replied the old man; "do as you say. I'm glad to see that you do a little thinking of your own once in a while."

"And I believe I can kill two birds with one stone," I continued, "by taking some strychnine along and baiting the remains of the yearling after I cut off the hind quarters, and in the morning I'll have a few coyotes to skin to give us a start in business."

"That's a good idea, too; but don't fool away too much time, for I want you to make that round of the neighborhood before night."

As I got our package of strychnine out of the wagon, opened it, and took out one of the phials to put in my pocket, Tom suggested:

"You'd better open that bottle here an' put in a little water to dissolve the crystals; you'll find it's easier to handle in liquid than in crystals, and also more savin'."

Tom's suggestion was a good one and I did as he advised. Then hanging the hatchet and field-glass to my saddle, I mounted and rode away.

Crossing the creek just below the beaver dam, where Jack was already looking out locations for his traps, I rode through the timber to look for the most convenient band of buffalo, and espied one that suited my purpose about a mile down the prairie bottom, strung out in single file on the trail, coming in to the creek for water.

Recrossing the creek so as to keep out of their sight behind the timber, I rode down to a point that would intercept them and prepared to await my game. The place I had chosen to wait for them was an old buffalo crossing, the converging trails, deeply worn in the banks on either side, showing that it was much used. They would have to pass me here, and, again recrossing the creek to the north side, I rode down into the timber, tied my horse behind some bushes, and returned afoot to the crossing, being careful not to give the buffalo my wind.

Soon they passed me, went on down, drank, and climbed the hills on the other side of the stream. As the young cattle filed past me I selected a yearling and, as he came opposite, shot him, and he dropped dead in the trail. The rest gave a jump or two and went on. I cut off the hind quarters and with some trouble put them on Prince.

Then stripping back the skin from the fore quarters, I applied my solution of strychnine, a few drops here and there over the meat and entrails, and left them for wolf bait.

Having left my meat at camp, I rode away on my scout, reaching camp again about sunset.

Just after we finished supper the howling of a pack of coyotes--which we seldom noticed--prompted me to exclaim:

"Make the most of your time, my lads, for if you happen to scent that bait I put out for you I'll be skinning some of you in the morning."

The howling and barking of wolves was such familiar music to us that it seldom provoked remark, for we had scarcely passed a night since entering the buffalo range that we had not been serenaded by the shrill, discordant notes of the coyote, varied occasionally by the deeper bass of the big, gray buffalo wolves, or "lobos," as the Mexicans call them.

Next morning Jack and I hurried through the work of watering and changing the animals to fresh grass, while Tom prepared breakfast. We were impatient to be off, and after the meal, taking our rifles in addition to revolvers, we started out to our respective tasks, Jack afoot and I on Black Prince.

As I approached my wolf baits I disturbed a couple of coyotes--probably late comers that had but recently found the carcass, for they certainly gave no evidence of the effects of strychnine as they loped off on the prairie a little way and there sat on their haunches licking their chops and watching me as though reluctant to leave their feast.

I tied Prince a few rods away from the bait, of which but little remained, while I walked about through the tall grass, looking up the dead wolves, three of which I noticed lying by the bait before dismounting. On looking about I found five more, at varying distances from the carcass, none of them more than a hundred yards away. Some of them were still warm.

I put down the rifle, drew my knife, and went to work. Having had considerable experience in skinning wolves, I was quite expert at it and soon had the eight pelts stripped off the dead coyotes and rolled up together ready for tying on behind my saddle.

The process of skinning was simple. I turned the wolf on his back and with the point of my knife split the skin from the point of the chin down the throat and belly to the root of the tail; then split the inside of each leg from the foot to an intersection of the first, or belly cut; then stripped back the skin from belly, legs, and sides. The tail was then slipped off the bone whole, without splitting, in this way: strip the skin of the tail away from the bone for about an inch at the root; then slip a split stick over the bone, take an end of the stick in each hand, clamping the bone tightly, and give a jerk toward the end of the tail. The bone slips out of its skin as if it were greased.

When it came to tying the skins on behind the saddle, Prince objected very strongly, and I was compelled to blindfold him before I could accomplish the job. After I had mounted, Prince was still nervous, but by coaxing and talking kindly to him I soon got him reconciled to carrying the burden.

When I reached camp I found Jack jubilating over three fine beavers which he had carried up from the creek. He was grumbling because he had not put out more traps.

"Time enough," said Tom consolingly. "We've now found out that there's plenty of 'em there and can wait awhile. Their fur'll be getting heavier an' better all the time."

He and Jack were finishing skinning the third one as I dismounted and threw down my batch of coyote pelts.

"How many did you get?" asked Jack.

"Only eight," I replied. "If I'd had time to have killed and poisoned three or four buffalo in different directions out around camp I'd 'a' got as many as the horse could carry."

"Time enough for the wolves, too, by and by," said Tom.

"Now, men," said Tom after we had discussed beaver and how to catch them, "while you were out I went over to the ravine and found a good place for our dugouts and measured and staked off the ground where we'll dig 'em. After dinner we can move camp over there close to the work. And while I'm getting the grub ready you two can water the horses and mules and be a-making a lot of little pins to peg your skins down to dry."

After dinner we moved camp close to the bank of the ravine, where Tom had marked out the ground for our winter quarters. On the opposite bank he had staked out a site for a larger dugout for a stable. The ravine here was narrow, and by a good jump we could clear the water that occupied its bottom. On top of the banks the ground for some distance around was smooth and level, bearing no other vegetation but the short, nutritious buffalo-grass.

Pitching our tent in a convenient place for our work, we turned out the stock, picketing the gray mare and Prince. Tom was to ride the "buckskin" bronco to look for a hay-field.

Jack and I soon had our coyote and beaver pelts stretched and pegged down on a smooth piece of ground.

"I'll try to get back," said Tom as he mounted Vinegar, "in time for you men to go and put out your baits for the night; and in the meantime, while you're resting, you may as well get out the pick and shovel and turn yourselves loose on them dugouts, just to see if you've forgot how to work. You'd better begin on the horses' stable and we'll try to finish that up first, for if a 'norther' should catch us the stock'd be in a bad fix for shelter, while our tent'd shelter us, all right."

In a couple of hours Tom returned, reporting that he had found, in a bend of the creek just below us, a large bottom that would afford us all the hay we would want.

"Now, men," he said as he unsaddled and turned out the bronco, "we've got lots to do that's pressing us, and, as the wolf poisoning and beaver trapping ain't pressing and won't suffer any loss by waiting a few days, I've been thinking that we'd better let the pelts go for a while and put in all our time at haymaking and digging till we get everything made snug for cold weather."

Tom's suggestion seemed so reasonable that we agreed with him and decided to let the pelts alone for a while.

Tom got his scythe out of the wagon and "hung" it and then went down to the timber to make a couple of wooden hay-forks. When he had returned from the timber with his wooden forks he remarked as he sat down and began whittling the prongs to points and otherwise smoothing them up with his knife:

"While I was at it I cut a lot of poles for a hay frame to put on top of the wagon-box to haul hay on; and I also cut some poles to lay on the ground under our freight when we unload the wagon."

Later in the day we unloaded the wagon, piling the contents on the poles inside the sideboards, which we had taken off together, leaving the bows on them. After the goods were thus piled up the wagon-sheet was stretched over the bows and securely tied down and the load was thus protected from the weather.

Tired and very hungry after our hard day's work, we devoured our supper and, after agreeing to devote the next day to digging and haymaking, were soon sound asleep.

After breakfast next morning Tom shouldered the scythe and his rifle and set out for the hay-field.

When we had cleared away the breakfast dishes Jack chose the pick-and-shovel work and was soon making the dirt fly out of the hole on the other side of the ravine, while I set to making a hay frame of crossed poles on top of the wagon-box, notched and lashed together and held in place by strips of rawhide cut from the skin on the yearling buffalo quarters. Now and then on the still morning air, although about a mile away, we could hear the "whick-whack" as Tom whetted his scythe.

At nine o'clock Jack went to the hay-field to help Tom, while I put on the dinner, to which I called them by flag at noon. In the afternoon they returned to their haymaking, and by evening they had a nice lot of hay in cocks which would do to haul and stack next day. After finishing the hay frame I worked at digging in the dugout.

Buffalo were to be seen on the prairie all about us, and now and then a few antelope made their appearance, but we were too busy to spare the time to go out and kill any. Flocks of water-fowl--wild geese, brants, ducks, and sand-hill cranes--were seen and heard flying over and sometimes alighted in the pond formed by the beaver dam, and also seemed to come down at a point several miles down the creek, which indicated that there was a body of water there.

In the evening when the men had returned from the hay-field we all stood for a while looking down the valley and remarking on the appearance of civilization imparted to the scene by the distant flat dotted over with cocks of hay. But in the morning at daylight, on again looking in that direction, we were filled with indignation to see that during the night a herd of buffalo had preempted our hay-field and had trampled, horned, and scattered all the nice cocks in every direction, and were now bedded on the ground, probably chewing their cuds in total indifference to our rights after almost destroying the previous day's work of our haymakers.

"I'll make wolf bait of one of 'em for spite, so I will," said Jack as he seized a rifle and started down the hollow to get a shot.

"Don't kill more'n one, Jack, just enough to scare them off," suggested Tom as the irate Irishman sneaked off down the ravine, "for we don't want our hay ground littered up with dead buffalo and dead wolf carcasses."

For some minutes Tom and I stood watching the buffalo to see what the Irishman would do for them. They were all lying down in apparent perfect contentment except one large bull. We kept our eyes on the big bull and after a time saw the huge beast drop, and immediately afterward the report of the rifle reached our ears. The rest of the buffalo jumped to their feet in alarm at the sound of the shot, but, instead of running away, stood staring at the timber from whence Jack had fired; and had he desired to do so he could probably have remained in concealment and shot several more, for the buffalo do not readily take the hint of danger till they can see the enemy. Presently we saw the herd stampede, and at the same time our Irishman made his appearance, running out of the timber shouting and firing another shot over them to give them a good scare.

"Our hay's ruined entirely," he said as he put away his rifle and sat down to breakfast, "scattered all about and tramped over. Even what we left in the windrows is all horned and tossed about. We may be able to rake up some of it, but it'll be hardly worth the effort. But I took me satisfaction out of that big fellow--I got a good broadside shot at him and must have shot him through the heart, for he dropped in his tracks. Peck had better go down there this evening and put some poison on the carcass, and be taking a few wolf pelts, too, while we're a-haymaking."

"Well," said Tom, "we'll have to stand these night-prowling buffalo off some way, and I think the best way will be for Peck to mount one of the horses just before night and ride 'round the neighborhood and drive off any herds that seem to be heading toward our hay-field. I wouldn't kill any more of them at present, for we can't spare the time to do much wolf skinning, but just stampede them and stand them off for a few days till we get our hay cut and hauled; then you may go for them, and the wolves, too. We don't often have occasion to take the hide off a buffalo, but I've been thinking it would be a good scheme to skin a few of the first ones we kill till we get hides enough to lay over the timbers on top of our dugouts before we throw the dirt on, to keep the fine dirt from sifting down on the inside; so, Peck, you may as well take the hide off this one and bring it up to camp when you go down there to poison the meat for wolf bait.

"While Jack and I are mowing to-day you can look out a suitable place along up the ravine here above camp where we can make a crossing, and dig down the banks a little, throwing the dirt into the hollow so's we can cross the wagon over; and while we're hauling hay we'll just leave the wagon over on the other side of the draw. We'll stack the hay, as we haul it, on the bank, close up to the stable so's it'll be handy.

"And, mind you, that at no time and under no circumstances must the camp guard leave camp."

"Have you seen any fresh signs, Tom, that make you think there's Indians about?" I asked.

"Not a thing, but I want to keep you 'minded with the idea that in this country 'eternal vigilance is the price of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,' as the Bible says. We know how tricky Injuns are, and, although we've seen no fresh signs, a prowling party is likely to drop onto us any time; and just think what a fix we'd be in if they should happen to get into our camp and all hands away. How completely they'd have the drop on us! I'm not scared of them, nor trying to scare you, but we've got to keep our eyes peeled and be prepared all the time."

"All right," I replied with an air of more confidence than I really felt, "I guess Found and I will be able to take care of camp."

"Of course," continued Tom reassuringly, "all Injuns ain't hostile, but we've got to keep on the safe side; and if a party of them approaches our camp at any time, even if they profess to be friendly, we must stand them off and never allow more than a few--just what we feel sure we can handle--to come into camp at a time; and even then, always keep your eyes on them and your arms and cartridges handy."

Leaving me with these cheerful subjects for thought, the two men proceeded to their work.

After they left I moved our horses and mules across the ravine where the dog and I could guard them on one side, while on the other the two haymakers would be some protection. During the forenoon I worked at the banks of the gulch, a little above our tent, to make a crossing for the wagon.

In searching for the place for a crossing for the wagon I discovered a little spring of water trickling out of the bank a few steps above our dugouts. It was only a weak vein, but by digging a pit under it, in which we planted an empty barrel, we made a reservoir that furnished us an abundance of good water.

The discovery and improvement of this little spring made our camp an ideal one. At first we had expected to use backwater from the beaver dam, but we soon realized that the trash from our camp might render this water unfit for drinking and cooking; and but for finding the spring we should have been obliged to carry water from the creek, which would have been laborious and inconvenient.

When an occasional rain or melting snow flushed out the trash in the ravine we could use that water for our stock for a few days, but at other times we watered them at the creek.

I felt more confidence in the protection afforded by our shepherd dog than in all the measures we were taking for the safety of our outfit. With the natural instinct of his breed, Found spent most of his time out with the stock, always selecting a position on some elevation between our animals and camp where he could see all that was going on in our neighborhood; and I was satisfied that neither friend nor foe could approach without his giving notice.

At noon when the men came in to dinner they reported that they had raked up a good load of the hay that had been scattered, and in the afternoon they took the mules and wagon with them and Tom brought the first load to camp on returning in the evening, while Jack remained and began skinning the dead buffalo. When I joined him we soon stripped the hide off, applied the strychnine to the carcass, and left it for the wolves.

"First come, first served, will be the rule here to-night," I remarked as we started to camp. "The first wolves to reach the bait will probably get laid out before they have time to get half a feed, while those that come later may not get strychnine enough to give them a bellyache."

"How many do you expect to find in the morning?" asked Jack.

"Oh, about eight or ten for the first night will be a pretty fair haul; but by to-morrow night I'll poison the bait again, and by that time it ought to catch more--maybe as many as twelve or fifteen--for the scent of the dead buffalo will then attract them from a greater distance."

I did even better than I anticipated, for next morning I found thirteen dead wolves lying around the bait awaiting my skinning knife. Jack remained in camp until I had skinned the wolves, brought in the pelts and pegged them down to dry, after which he took the team and went out to the hay-field where Tom was mowing.

The dead buffalo only lasted for three nights' baiting, by which time I had taken nearly fifty pelts, some big gray wolves but mostly coyotes and little yellow foxes. We killed no more buffalo for wolf baits until the more important work was done.

Our haymakers were now making a good showing, bringing in and stacking a load at noon and another at night, and in a week we had stacked as much hay as we should need.

While doing duty as camp guard, I had put in all my spare time throwing dirt out of our stable dugout and had the excavation about completed. While Jack and I were doing a little trimming up inside and cutting a doorway through the wall of dirt on the side next the ravine, Tom had gone into the timber and cut and split a lot of poles and slabs to support the roof of dirt.

First putting a small log, twenty-four feet long, on the brink of each side of the excavation, to serve as "plates" to rest the roof timbers on, we then laid twelve-foot slabs and poles across from side to side, as closely as they would fit, covering the larger crevices with brush.

"Now," said Tom, stepping back to take an observation of our work when we had reached this point, "ef we had buffalo-skins enough to cover it, to keep the fine dirt from sifting through, we'd be ready to go to throwing the dirt on an' soon have the horses' stable finished up so's we could go to work on our own quarters."

"Well, we can soon get them," I replied. "In the morning Jack and I will go out and kill a few buffalo and bring in the hides, and by to-morrow night we can have this dugout about completed."

Next morning the Irishman and I saddled up and started out to secure the hides. We could have killed what we needed out of the first band we struck, but, as I wished to use the carcasses for wolf baits, we decided to distribute the baits at different points about the camp and not less than a mile from it.

We killed and skinned six bulls, making a complete circuit of our camp, and by noon had returned with the hides.

After dinner we spread enough of them over the roof timbers to completely cover them and then set to work shovelling on the dirt, making quite a mound of it. This finished our stable, except for the mangers and feed-boxes inside and making a door of some kind to close up the opening we had cut through the bank. This last Tom made next day by a frame of poles on which was tacked a buffalo-hide. This door was hung on rawhide hinges.

"Now, men," said the old man as we topped out the dirt roof and smoothed it up, "we've a snug shelter here for our stock in case of need, but, of course, we won't put 'em into it till we have to. As long as it's fair they'll do better out on the buffalo-grass, as they've been doing. Our stable, hay, an' grain will be our reserve for stormy weather or when the grass is covered with snow. We must still work hard till we get our own winter quarters finished up, an' then let the weather turn loose--we'll be ready for it."

Toward evening I made the round of the buffalo carcasses and poisoned them for the night's catch of wolves.

As we gathered around the supper table in the evening I suggested:

"As I expect a big job of wolf skinning in the morning, I guess I'll need help, and maybe I had as well take Jack along with me and be breaking him in."

"All right," replied the Irishman, "if Tom says so, I'm your huckleberry. How many skins are you going to get this haul?"

"Well, I don't know, but, putting it low, I ought to find at least five or six around each bait, and maybe twice that many, so you see, skinning, bringing in, and pegging down thirty-five or forty wolf pelts is no small job."

"Well, it'll take the two of you the whole forenoon," said Tom ruefully, "but the wolfskins must be taken care of--that's what we're here for. Still, I'm mighty anxious to get the other dugout done, so I guess you'd better not kill any more buffalo for bait unless we need some more of their skins to cover our dugout. These six will keep you a-poisoning and a-skinning for at least three or four days to come, and all of that time there'll not be much done on the dugout, for part of my time'll be taken up doing the cooking an' camp work. But go ahead with your wolf killing, for every pelt cured is as good as six bits or a dollar in pocket at the least calculation."

After an early breakfast next morning Jack and I mounted and started. We found fully as big a job as I had anticipated, for the night's catch yielded us over fifty wolfskins. It took us most of the morning, brisk work, to get them all gathered in, and our horses were so well loaded with the hides that we had to walk and lead them back to camp. Jack proved an apt pupil at wolf skinning and soon could snatch a hide off as quickly as I.

When we reached camp with our loads we found that Tom, with his usual foresight, had whittled us out a good lot of pegs, which greatly assisted us in disposing of the pelts, and we soon had them stretched and pegged down, flesh side up, on a smooth piece of ground near the tent where we had already started a drying yard.

Each evening, while there was anything left for a wolf bait of the buffalo we had recently killed, I made the round, poisoning the flesh, and next morning Jack and I visited the baits, skinned the dead wolves, brought in the pelts, and pegged them down. This generally "spoiled" the forenoon, while the afternoon would be spent in digging our dugout; but, as our winter quarters were to be only about half the size of the stable, we soon had the new excavation finished.

After putting the roof timbers on our dugout we placed the stove in its corner, put on the extra joints of pipe provided for the purpose, extending it up through an opening in the slabs, and plastered a lot of mud around the pipe to prevent it setting fire to the timbers. Then spreading buffalo-hides over the timbers, we heaped up the earth on it, as we had on the other one, and our winter residence was ready for its furniture and tenants.

Our ten-foot-square room was rather cramped quarters to hold us and all that we had designed to put in it, and we found it necessary still to use the tent to store such of our plunder as would not need protection from the cold.

Without giving any reason, Tom insisted on moving the tent up as close against the rear side of the pile of dirt that constituted the roof of our dugout as we could get it. I suspected then that this was one of his strategic plans, and a few days later my surmise was verified when we found him at work digging a tunnel from the dugout room to the centre of the tent. By this underground connection we could go from one place to the other without being exposed and, if necessary, could use the tent as a lookout station.

On the evening that we moved into the dugout, as we sat down to our first meal in winter quarters, Tom remarked with evident satisfaction:

"Now, men, we've got things in shape so that we're ready for a cold snap, snow-storm, or norther ef one chances to come this way. From now on we can take it easier. There will be a lot of trimming an' tidying up to do about camp yet for several days, an' while I'm putting on the finishing touches you two can light out and go to poisoning wolves an' trapping beaver or hunting any other game that you can find. You ought to explore the neighborhood for ten or twelve miles around in every direction. It's about time, too, for one of us to take a trip over to the fort to get our mail an' find out what's going on in the world."

"Well, Tom, what are the orders for to-morrow?" said I.

"Why, you an' Jack had better go out an' kill a few more buffalo for baits an' Jack can set his traps for some more beaver. You might both of you ride up or down the creek for a few miles now and then, to learn the country like an' maybe pick up an antelope or some wild geese or ducks, to make a change in our bill of fare. An' about to-morrow or next day or the day after, when I get things pretty well shaped up about camp, I think I'll ride over to the fort an' get our mail an' see what's going on in the United States."

"In a little while," remarked Jack, "if our luck holds out, we'll be gettin' a big lot of wolfskins dried. How are we going to stow 'em away to take care of 'em till spring?"

"Well," replied Tom, "in a few days I'll rig up a lever to press 'em with, an' then as fast as we get a hundred or so dried we'll put fifty of 'em in a pile, press 'em down tight, an' tie 'em in bales with rawhide strips an' then store the bales away in the tent."