The sole
intelligence I heard that night related to the roan: the enfeebled
constitution of that unlucky animal had given way under rough travel and
wild weather; he was reported to be dying; hearing which, I could
scarcely deny him great good sense, however I might lament his lack of
endurance.
"The sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep," applies, of course, to
horses as well as hard-worked men.
My new host was a thorough specimen of the upland yeoman--half hunter,
half farmer, and all over a cattle-dealer. Deer and bears still abound
in those hills, though the latter are not so plentiful as they were a
score of years back, when B---- and his father slew thirty-three in a
single season: in one conflict he lost two fingers, from his
hunting-knife slipping while he was locked in the death-grapple.
The next morning broke wild and stormy, but the good man rode out on the
scout, to see how the land lay round Oakland; while he was absent we
talked over our plans, and looked over his cattle to find a remount for
my guide. The roan's malady had not been exaggerated; he was indeed in a
miserable plight, suffering, I thought, from acute internal
inflammation. After dinner we had some very pretty rifle practice, at
short distances, with a huge, clumsy weapon.
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