OUR LAST NIGHT TOGETHER—THE REMARKABLE SHED-TAIL DOG—HE RESCUES HIS MISTRESS, AND BREAKS UP A MEETING—A SKETCH OF TERRITORIAL TIMES BY GRIPE—MONTGOMERY'S EXPEDITION FOR THE RESCUE OF JOHN BROWN'S COMPANIONS—SCALPED, AND CARVING HIS OWN EPITAPH—AN IRISH JACOB—"SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST"—SACHEM'S POETICAL LETTER—POPPING THE QUESTION ON THE RUN—THE PROFESSOR'S LETTER.

Supper over, we made an engagement with our hospitable friends for their presence at a sort of "state dinner" we proposed giving the next day, and then returned to our own camp. A number of the settlers soon came strolling in, and among them one bringing a most remarkable dog, of the "shed-tail" variety. The animal was well known to fame in that section, for having attacked some Indians who had taken his mistress captive and were endeavoring to place her upon one of their ponies, and so delaying them that the neighbors were able to arrive and give rescue. It was claimed that thirty shots were fired at him without effect, which, if true, proved that either those Indians were exceedingly bad marksmen, or that the small fraction of caudal appendage which the beast possessed acted as a protective talisman.We had often seen dogs without tails, but previous to this had always supposed that a depraved human taste, not nature, was at the root of it. Tail-wagging we had considered as much the born prerogative of a dog as a laugh is that of man. It is true some men do not laugh, but the child did. A dog's tail embodies his laughing faculty, or rather one might call it a canine thermometer. It rises and falls with his feelings, in moments of depression going down to zero between his legs, and again rising when the canine temperature becomes more even.

"That thar dorg, stranger, is of the shed-tail variety," said its owner, when we solicited information. "Whole litter had nothin' but stumps. Killed most on 'em off, 'cause, havin' nothin' to wag, visitin' people couldn't tell whether they was goin' to bite, or be pleased. Some time ago, a travelin' school-teacher giv' him a plaguy Latin name, but we call him Shed, for short. He knows, just as well as you and I, that he 's in the wrong, latterly, and as soon as you look at him, or touch where the tail ought ter be, he hides and howls. He 's sensitive as a human."

Saying this, our new acquaintance leaned over the dog, which was lying asleep, and gave the animal what he called a "latterly touch." Although it was but the gentle contact of a finger tip, the poor creature jumped up, uttered a dismal howl, and fled off among the wagons.

"That dorg," continued the owner, "would be one of the best critters out, if it wasn't for his short cut. He 'll fight Injuns, or wild cats, and take any amount of blows on his head, if they 'll only avoid his misfortin.'"

We remarked that he seemed to have been shot in the side, some time.

"Yes, got a whole charge of quail shot slapped inter him. You see the way it was, wer this. Most every section has one or two scraggy, rattle-brained fellers, allers loungin' round, takin' free drinks, and starvin' ther families. Whar we come from was one of this sort, never of no account to no one. We had a temperance meetin' one day, and this Hib, as they called him, wer opposed to it. He was afraid they 'd shut up Old Bung's whisky shed. Well, we was all a gathered, listenin' to the serpent and its poisoned sting, and that sort o' thing, and had about concluded to go for Old Bung, when that contrairy, ornery Hib broke us up. He goes and gets a fresh coon skin, and sneaks all round the school-house, draggin' it arter him, and makin' a sort o' scented circle. Then he goes and gets Shed Tail there, who was powerful on coons, and sets him on that thar track. Shed give just one sniff, and opened right out. The way he shied round that school-house wer a sin. In five minutes, all the dogs of the village were at his heels, and goin' round that circle like the spokes in a wheel.

"It was just a round ring of the loudest yelling you ever heard. Every dog thought the one just ahead of him had the coon. All the meetin' folks come a pourin' out, with sticks and chairs, and what with beatin' and coaxin' they got all off the trail but old Shed. Half the people went to chasin' that dorg, while the balance held onto the others. But Shed just stuck to that coon track, like all possessed, dodgin' atween our legs, or sheerin' off, and catchin' ther trail agin just beyond. He finally upset Old Squire Bundy's wife, and the Squire got mad, and slapped some No. 7 into his ribs."

The shed-tail's owner, waxing more and more eloquent with his subject, had just commenced the narrative of another Indian battle in which his favorite had figured, when we became interested in a wordy political combat between Tenacious Gripe and a genuine specimen of the "reconstructed," the first and only one of that genus that we saw in Kansas. His clothes had the famous butternut dye, and his shirt bosom was mapped into numerous creeks and rivers by the brown stains of tobacco overflows. The dispute waxed warm, and grew more and more prolific of eloquence. At length, the reconstructed beat a retreat, and our orator was left in triumphant possession of the field.

Drawing fresh inspiration from his success, Gripe devoted another hour to an account of the early struggles in Kansas against these "mean whites." He gave us many vivid descriptions of the time when men died that their children might live. Among other relations was that of the expedition under Montgomery, to rescue the two companions of old John Brown from the prison at Charlestown, Virginia, a short time after the stern hero himself had there been hung.

The dozen of brave Kansas men interested in the enterprise reached Harrisburg, with their rifles taken apart and packed in a chest, and sent scouts into Virginia and Maryland. It was the middle of winter, and deep snow covered the ground. They intended, when passing among the mountains, to bear the character of a hunting party. Every member of that little band was willing to push on to Charlestown, notwithstanding the whole State of Virginia was on the alert, and pickets were thrown out as far even as Hagerstown, Maryland. The plan was, by a bold dash to capture the jail, and then, with the rescued men, make rapidly for the seaboard. Although the expedition failed, it gave the world a glimpse of that heroic western spirit which was not only willing to do battle upon its own soil, but content to turn back and meet Death half-way when comrades were in danger.

Gripe did not accompany the expedition. Yet he grew so eloquent over the deep snow that stretched drearily before the little band, the gloomy mountains which frowned down defiance, and the people, far more inhospitable than either, who stood behind the natural barriers, filled to fanaticism with suspicion, fear, and hate, that we were sorry he had not been of the party. A man of such congressional qualifications as were his, might have been able to steal even the prisoners.

On other matters of Kansas history, Gripe could speak from personal experience. He had twice entered the territory during the period when the Free State and pro-slavery forces were doing battle for it. In one instance, the journey had been overland through Missouri, and in the other, up the Missouri River. On the first occasion, he had suffered numberless indignities at the hands of border ruffians, and would have been killed, had there been any thing in the least degree stronger than suspicion for them to act upon. On the other trip, the steamboat was stopped at Lexington, and a pro-slavery mob boarded the vessel, and searched for arms. The whole fabric of Kansas material which Gripe wove for us that evening was figured all over with battles, and murders, and tar-and-feather diversions. Had we been writing a history of the State, we might have accumulated a fair share of the material then and there.

Another subject this evening discussed around our camp-fire was the future of the vast plains which we had been traversing. Two or three of the settlers were ranchemen, who had lived in this region for many years. They were very enthusiastic about the section of their adoption, and affirmed stoutly that within fifteen years the whole tract would be under cultivation.

I can answer for our whole party that, beyond a doubt, the climate is healthy and the soil rich. For the first one hundred miles, after reaching the eastern boundary of the plains, springs and pure streams abound. Further west, the water supply is not so plentiful. On only one occasion, however, did we suffer any inconvenience from this, and that was upon the very headwaters of the Saline. Going into camp late, coffee was hastily prepared, and the quality of the water not noticed. It proved to be quite salty, and as we drank liberally of the coffee, and were unable afterward to find a spring, our sufferings before morning amounted to positive torture. Each one of the party found that his lungs were benefited by our sojourn on the plains. I believe that a consumptive could find decidedly more relief in Buffalo Land than among the mountains further west.

During the evening, we added considerably to our already very full notes concerning the wild tribes of the western plains. So many are the "true tales of the border" which one can hear in a few months of such journeyings as ours, that the recital of even a tithe of the number would become tiresome. The red-bearded owner of "Shed-tail" added to our store, by relating an adventure which he claimed had occurred to himself and Buffalo Bill, when they were teamsters together in an overland train. It was to the effect that while riding ahead of the wagons, to find a crossing over the Sandy, they discovered the skeleton of a man lying at the foot of a cottonwood tree. As they dismounted for the purpose of finding some means, if possible, of identifying the remains, their attention was caught by letters cut in the bark. These they deciphered sufficiently to see that it had been an attempt by some weak hand to carve a name. A broken knife, lying near the bones, told plainly enough who the worker at the epitaph had been, and other signs revealed to the frontiersmen the whole death history. The man had been assailed by savages, scalped, and left as dead. The work of the knife showed that he must have recovered sufficiently to crawl to the tree, and there make a faint effort to leave some record of his name and fate. The straggling gashes indicated that he had continued the task even while death was blinding his eyes. A few more drops of blood, and perhaps the mystery of years, now shrouding the history of some family hearth-stone, would have been cleared away.

We had no opportunity of verifying this story of red beard's, but as no occasion existed for telling a lie, and the neighbors of the narrator there present seemed much interested in the account, we accepted it as truth. It was apparently no attempt to impose upon the strangers. But I would here state, as a specimen feature of the frontier experience of all travelers, that whenever, at any of our camps, surrounding ranchemen or hunters discovered any member of our party taking notes, there were straightway spun out the toughest yarns which ever hung a tale and throttled truth.

Of one fact our journey thoroughly convinced us. Lo's forte has no connection with the fort of the pale-faces. An unguarded hunter, or a defenseless emigrant wagon, or unarmed railroad laborer, gratifies sufficiently his most warlike ambition. The savages of the plains, in their attacks upon the whites, have been like bees, stinging whenever opportunity offers, and immediately disappearing in space. Their excuses for the murders they commit have been as various as their moods. At one time it is a broken treaty, at another the killing of their buffalo, and trespassing upon the hunting-grounds, and again it is some other grievance. It may be some gratification for them to know that it is estimated that, until within the last three years, a white man's scalp atoned for each buffalo killed by his race.

In our various wars with the Indians, it is worthy of remark the bison have been like supply posts at convenient distances, to the hostile bands. Traveling without any supplies whatever, and therefore rapidly, a few moments suffice to kill a buffalo near the camping spot, and roast his flesh over the chips. The pony, meanwhile, makes a hearty meal on the grass. On the other hand, our troops, in pursuit of these bands, have had to encumber themselves with baggage wagons, or pack-mules, bearing food and forage.

Among our notes, I find recorded many incidents illustrative of the aptitude which the savage mind possesses for dissimulation. For instance, in our council at Hays City, White Wolf could apparently understand only our sign language; yet when the interpreter advised the Professor, in good English, not to accept the little Mexican burro, unless content to return its weight in something much more valuable than jackass meat, the chief could not refrain from smiling. As Indians are not given to facial revelations, the colloquy must have struck him as very apropos and very amusing. We concluded then and there, that it was unsafe to talk Indian sign with the savages for effect, and meanwhile express our real sentiments to each other in English; and upon this opinion we habitually acted thereafter.

This was our last night together as a party. The Professor had signified his intention of remaining a few days longer upon the Solomon, for the purpose of studying the surrounding country. Shamus had asked a discharge, in order to engage as farm hand for Mr. Sydney—an Irish Jacob taking to agriculture as a means of obtaining his Rachel. We received numerous invitations to divide our party for the night among the settlers, and, glad to enjoy again the luxury of a roof, Sachem and I gratefully accepted the hospitabilities of a neighboring log-cabin among the trees.

The next day was busily occupied in separating from our loads such things as the Professor and Shamus required for their further sojourn in the Solomon valley. The morning following, we bade them both good-bye, and have seen neither leader or servant since. With but one mishap, the remainder of our party reached safely the more familiar haunts of civilization. Doctor Pythagoras was the victim of our exceptional misfortune. While attempting to mount his transformed prize-fighter, the metamorphosed bully struck out from the shoulder, and the doctor was floored. We found it necessary to carry him upon a rude stretcher to Solomon City, and provide him with a section on a sleeping car for transit to the East. As we shook his hand at parting, and bade him a last good-bye, he exclaimed, "My young friends, I can not die yet. I shall recover and outlive you all. I believe in the theory of the 'survival of the fittest.'"

Ever since our return, the tide of emigration, pouring onward from the Atlantic, has lapped further and further out upon the surface of the plains; and still, as truly now as when good old Bishop Berkeley first wrote the line, "the Star of Empire westward takes its way."

While I was preparing these notes for the press, I received the following characteristic letter from Sachem, dated at his haunt in New York. It was at first a puzzle, but I found the key in a note inclosed by him, which he had lately received from the Professor.

SACHEM'S LETTER.

To crack a head and break a heart,
Are known as Paddy's forte;
In kitchen, jail, or low-back cart—
No matter where—he 'll court.
To don a rig, and dance a jig,
Attend a wake or wedding,
He 'll sell his own or neighbor's pig
And only rag of bedding.
He lives a happy, careless life,
Hand to mouth, and heart in hand;
Ready for either love or strife,
Building castles on the sand.
With peck of trouble ever full,
Good measure, running over,
He deals in stock—the Irish bull,
And with it, lives in clover.
Love's labor is the only taste
That Paddy's mind inherits:
He thinks, where maidens run to waste,
The harem has its merits.
And so Dobeen, upon his course,
Love's gallop quick began;
The gal up on the other horse,
He courted, as they ran.
The bows around the maid were more
Than suited to her mind;
Cupid and Shamus rode before,
The savage rode behind.
They each pursued the maiden coy,
Two wooed her a la bow;
The arrow tips of one were joy,
The other's tips were woe.
'T is said that Shamus won the race,
And saved his hair and bacon:
If Mary loved his wooing pace,
His heart may stop its achin'.

And this was the Professor's letter, which had evidently set the aldermanic machine to grinding doggerel again:

... "I have run down here after my mail. Am progressing finely with my studies. Shamus had an adventure yesterday. Mary and he rode over on horseback to a neighbor's, a mile away, and on the return were pursued by an Indian. Hard riding brought them in safely. Mary tells her mistress that, during the terrors of the chase, Shamus would not refrain from courting. He lashed her horse, and spurred his, and popped the question, alternately.

"I shall probably remain here a month or so longer, as I am much interested in the Flora of the Solomon Valley."