pack mule had been possessed of the devil that day, bolting twice over the back trail and losing his load by rolling. No sooner had Lander repacked and secured the load, with his mates a long line of dots on the edge of the plain, than his riding mule viciously leaped sidewise and threw his rider in a patch of prickly pears. Exhausted by his extra exertions and thoroughly disgusted with the prickly pear Lander made camp in a disgruntled frame of mind and dog-tired when assigned to his post.
Those not on duty were smoking and singing and telling stories or grinning secretly as they listened to Bridger's enthusiastic description of the wonders of the Yellowstone country. Bridger picked Papa Clair for his audience as he had not told him the stories before. Papa was polite from his moccasins to his snowy thatch and endeavored to smother any signs of incredulity. Yet the best he could do he could not refrain at times from emitting a low:
"Name of heaven! Holy blue! Caves of war-paint! Cascades of boiling water! A basin filled with scalding water springs which spout high to the heavens! Forests turned to stone! Believe? Mon Dieu! Of course. M'sieu says it. It is
