PATIENCE OF THE INDIAN HUNTER. 265 gallop to the right and left, and perform a considerable circuit, with a view to surround them. They then close in upon the animals, and each man endeavours to kill as many as possible. On such occasions the Indians display their skill in horsemanship, and dexterity as archers; and, notwithstanding that the same animal is sometimes feathered by arrows from different archers, each man knows his own weapon, and can also ascertain from the nature of the wound whether it will produce or has occasioned death. Hence it happens that quarrels respecting the prey rarely occur, and that it is consigned to the fortunate individual whose weapon penetrated the vital part. About the month of August, the Indians return towards the deserted village, visiting in their journey the Pawnee villages, for the purpose of trading in guns and horses; and when returned, they continue sedulously employed in their usual avocations till the latter end of October, at which time they again depart, and move in small detachments on both sides of the Missouri and its tributaries, as far down as the Platte, trading as they go for various articles which they require during their autumnal, their winter, and their spring hunts. Having obtained these, they set forth in pursuit of deer, or occupy themselves in trapping the beaver and otter. Yet the assiduous hunter often returns to his temporary residence in the evening, after having unsuccessfully exerted himself through the day, hungry, fatigued, and cold, with his mockasins frozen to his feet. His faithful squaw may be unable to supply his wants, but she seats herself beside him near the little fire, and after having put aside his hunting implements, she rubs his mockasins and leggings, and pulls them off; she then gives him water to drink and his pipe to smoke. His children assemble round him, and taking one upon his knee, he proceeds to amuse it with the adventures of the day, that his squaw may be informed of them. “I have been active all the day, but the Master of Life has prevented me from killing any game; but never despond, my children, and your mother; I may be fortunate to-morrow." He often sings till midnight, even when retired to his couch, while his careful wife remains awake to dry his clothing. On the morrow he again sallies forth before the dawn, and may soon return loaded with provisions. Such is the life of a native hunter, and such the privations and the pleasures to which he is exposed *. Indian hunters often pursue their prey amid the rudest and most colossal scenes. Dr. James, to whom I have frequently referred, observed the tract of bisons through an hideous pathway so hemmed in with impending rocks, that the view was nearly as confined as in a subterraneous passage. So dismal was the place that few adventure to go through it, except, indeed, those bold and enterprising men who delight to chase the bison in his wildest recesses. But bright and cheering was the scene that burst on the astonished travellers, when, after ascending a steep acclivity, guarded on either side with a wall of rocks which * From Memorandums of an American Naturalist. nearly obscured the light of day, they came through a grove of juniper to the border of an open plain, where the expanse of the grassy desert opened suddenly upon their view. The change was grateful, for instead of a bison path, leading amid gloom and danger, appeared a boundless and varied landscape, the broad valley of the Arkansa, studded with little groves of timber, and terminated in the back-ground by the shining summits of James's Peak and the Rocky Mountains, while the snowy pinnacles of more distant ranges limited their view on the right. To the left, and before them, lay an extended plain, diversified with vast conic mounds and insulated table-like hills, while herds of bisons, antelopes, and wild horses, gave life and cheerfulness to the scene. As the day advanced, and the heat of the sun began to be sensibly felt, vapours arose from off the plain, and magnified every object. Thus they continued, and often presented the appearance of a wide expanse of water in every valley upon which the traveller could look down at an angle of about ten degrees. The effect was so beautiful and perfect as to deceive the most experienced, even those who had witnessed a similar illusion on the sandy deserts of the East. A herd of bisons, at the distance of a mile, seemed standing in a clear transparent lake, and what appeared the reflected image, was as clearly seen as the animal itself. This singular appearance is common in Arabia, but was hitherto unnoticed on the prairies of America. The Persians call it "the water of the desert;" and in the Sanscrit language it is termed "the desire of the antelope." Yet the mirage has been frequently observed on the Llanos and the Pampas, those immense plains which stretch far beyond the limits of the visible horizon, and concerning which, as affording peculiar features in transatlantic scenery, we shall proceed to offer some closing observations. The Pampas are by far the most extensive; lying on the eastern side of the Andes, and extending from their foot to the shores of the vast Atlantic; and as the sides of lofty mountains present different zones of plants, so remarkable differences of vegetation are apparent throughout these plains. The ground, on leaving Buenos Ayres, is covered for nearly one hundred and eighty miles with clover and thistles; this is the first division, beyond which an immense prairie of long grass extends to, at least, four times the distance, and is terminated by a beautiful region of evergreen trees and shrubs, reaching to the foot of the Cordilleras. These three divisions are entirely distinct; the trees and shrubs which diversify the last, never encroach upon the prairie : their seeds, or cones, scattered by the wind, effect no lodgment amid the waving grass, which seems to be without a weed; while in the woody region such beautiful order prevails in the growth of the trees, that a horseman may gallop between them in every direction. The district of clover and large thistles varies, on the contrary, at different seasons of the year. During winter it presents the appearance of an immense clover field, over which herds of wild cattle graze in unrestrained liberty. As spring advances the clover disappears, and the thistles, which began to lift their heads above the herbage, VEGETABLE ZONES ON THE PAMPAS. 269 rapidly gain an ascendancy, and rise to the height of ten or eleven feet. At this time they form an impenetrable barrier: even the puma and the jaguar cannot push their way amid the strong and prickly stems and leaves, and he who endeavours to pursue his accustomed journey finds himself impeded on every side. Captain Head relates that so speedy is their growth, and so effectual the barrier they present, that an army might be surrounded and imprisoned before it could escape. But as the sun advances in the heavens the tall thistles yield to the increasing heat; the stems become dry and withered, and are broken down by the hurricanes that sweep over the plains. The nightly dews, also, fall heavy upon them, and occasion a decay as rapid as their first production; thus decomposed, they fertilize the soil, which is again speedily covered with a luxuriant growth of clover: this, in its turn, affords a shelter to the seeds of innumerable thistles, that soon spring up, and cause the prairie's wide extent to appear in the distance like a vast turnip field. In these regions wild and wandering tribes occa sionally pitch their tents at intervals. These are the native Indians, some of whom journey from place to place; while a few straggling towns and villages, with here and there a solitary hut, betoken the abode of others, who are employed in keeping cattle. They are called Gauchos, and are descended from the Spanish settlers-a strong and active race, celebrated for the strength and swiftness of their horses, and their dexterity in noosing wild cattle. Captain Head journeyed with a party of them, during |