Chapter 2

Up with my tent: here will I lie to-night,
But where, to-morrow?--Well, all's one for that
--Richard the Third.

The travellers soon discovered the usual and unerring evidences that
the several articles necessary to their situation were not far
distant. A clear and gurgling spring burst out of the side of the
declivity, and joining its waters to those of other similar little
fountains in its vicinity, their united contributions formed a run,
which was easily to be traced, for miles along the prairie, by the
scattering foliage and verdure which occasionally grew within the
influence of its moisture. Hither, then, the stranger held his way,
eagerly followed by the willing teams, whose instinct gave them a
prescience of refreshment and rest.

On reaching what he deemed a suitable spot, the old man halted, and
with an enquiring look, he seemed to demand if it possessed the needed
conveniences. The leader of the emigrants cast his eyes,
understandingly, about him, and examined the place with the keenness
of one competent to judge of so nice a question, though in that
dilatory and heavy manner, which rarely permitted him to betray
precipitation.

"Ay, this may do," he said, satisfied with his scrutiny; "boys, you
have seen the last of the sun; be stirring."

The young men manifested a characteristic obedience. The order, for
such in tone and manner it was, in truth, was received with respect;
but the utmost movement was the falling of an axe or two from the
shoulder to the ground, while their owners continued to regard the
place with listless and incurious eyes. In the mean time, the elder
traveller, as if familiar with the nature of the impulses by which his
children were governed, disencumbered himself of his pack and rifle,
and, assisted by the man already mentioned as disposed to appeal so
promptly to the rifle, he quietly proceeded to release the cattle from
the gears.

At length the eldest of the sons stepped heavily forward, and, without
any apparent effort, he buried his axe to the eye, in the soft body of
a cotton-wood tree. He stood, a moment, regarding the effect of the
blow, with that sort of contempt with which a giant might be supposed
to contemplate the puny resistance of a dwarf, and then flourishing
the implement above his head, with the grace and dexterity with which
a master of the art of offence would wield his nobler though less
useful weapon, he quickly severed the trunk of the tree, bringing its
tall top crashing to the earth in submission to his prowess. His
companions regarded the operation with indolent curiosity, until they
saw the prostrate trunk stretched on the ground, when, as if a signal
for a general attack had been given,