d o' some sort."

"A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the
bird at Dick's feet; "capital for supper."

"Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I
vill clap you."

But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe
and Dick formed a sort of beehive-looking hut by
bending down the stems of a tall bush and thrusting
their points into the ground. Over this they threw the
largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground
below it, on which they laid their packs of goods.
These they further secured against wet by placing
several robes over them and a skin of parchment. Then
they sat down on this pile to rest, and consider what
should be done next.

"'Tis a bad look-out," said Joe, shaking his head.

"I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone.

Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking
up at the sky, which was now of a uniform watery gray,
while black clouds drove athwart it. The rain was
pouring in torrents, and the wind began to sweep it in
broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight covering,
so that in a short time they were wet to the skin.
The horses stood meekly beside them, with their tails
and heads equally pendulous; and Crusoe sat before his
master, looking at him with an expression that seemed
to say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you were to
try?"

"This'll never do. I'll try to git up a fire," said
Dick, jumping up in desperation.

"Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe
dryly--at least as dryly as was possible in the circumstances.

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Everything
was soaked and saturated. There were no large
trees; most of the bushes were green, and the dead ones
were soaked. The coverings were slobbery, the skins
they sat on were slobbery, the earth it