Sweetwater Bluff.  
We must now leap over a considerable space, not only of distance, but of time, in order to appreciate fully the result of Charlie Brooke’s furious letter-writing and amazing powers of persuasion.
 
Let the reader try to imagine a wide plateau, dotted with trees and bushes, on one of the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, where that mighty range begins to slide into union with the great prairies. It commands a view of mingled woodland and rolling plain, diversified by river and lake, extending to a horizon so faint and far away as to suggest the idea of illimitable space.
 
Early one morning in spring, five horsemen, emerging from a belt of woodland, galloped to the slope that led to the summit of this plateau. Drawing rein, they began slowly to ascend. Two of the cavaliers were young, tall, and strong;—two were portly and old, though still hearty and vigorous; one, who led them, on a coal-black steed, was a magnificent specimen of the backwoodsman, and one, who brought up the rear, was a thin little man, who made up for what he wanted in size by the energy and vigour of his action, as, with hand and heel, he urged an unwilling horse to keep up with the rest of the party.
 
Arrived at the summit of the plateau, the leading horseman trotted to its eastern edge, and halted as if for the purpose of surveying the position.
 
“Here we are at last,” he said, to the tallest of his comrades; “Sweetwater Bluff—and the end of our journey!”
 
“And a most noble end it is!” exclaimed the tall comrade. “Why, Hunky Ben, it far surpasses my expectations and all you have said about it.”
 
“Most o’ the people I’ve had to guide over this trail have said pretty much the same thing in different words, Mr Brooke,” returned the scout, dismounting. “Your wife will find plenty o’ subjects here for the paintin’ she’s so fond of.”
 
“Ay, May will find work here to keep her brushes busy for many a day to come,” replied Charlie, “though I suspect that other matters will claim most of her time at first, for there is nothing but a wilderness here yet.”
 
“You’ve yet to larn, sir, that we don’t take as long to fix up a town hereaway as you do in the old country,” remarked Hunky Ben, as old Jacob Crossley ambled up on the staid creature which we have already introduced as Wheelbarrow.
 
Waving his hand with enthusiasm the old gentleman exclaimed, “Glorious!” Indeed, for a few minutes he sat with glistening eyes and heaving chest, quite unable to give vent to any other sentiment than “glorious!” This he did at intervals. His interest in the scene, however, was distracted by the sudden advent of Captain Stride, whose horse—a long-legged roan—had an awkward tendency, among other eccentricities, to advance sideways with a waltzing gait, that greatly disconcerted the mariner.
 
“Woa! you brute. Back your tops’ls, won’t you? I never did see sitch a craft for heavin’ about like a Dutch lugger in a cross sea. She sails side on, no matter where she’s bound for. Forges ahead a’most entirely by means of leeway, so to speak. Hallo! woa! Ketch a grip o’ the painter, Dick, an’ hold on till I git off the hurricane deck o’ this walrus—else I’ll be overboard in a—. There—” The captain came to the ground suddenly as he spoke, without the use of stirrup, and, luckily, without injury.
 
“Not hurt I hope?” asked Dick Darvall, assisting his brother-salt to rise.
 
“Not a bit of it, Dick. You see I’m a’most as active as yourself though double your age, if not more. I say, Charlie, this is a pretty look-out. Don’t ’ee think so, Mr Crossley? I was sure that Hunky Ben would find us a pleasant anchorage and safe holding-ground at last, though it did seem as if we was pretty long o’ comin’ to it. Just as we was leavin’ the waggins to ride on in advance I said to my missus—says I—Maggie, you may depend—”
 
“Hallo! Zook,” cried Charlie, as the little man of the slums came limping up, “what have you done with your horse?”
 
“Cast ’im loose, sir, an’ gi’n ’im leave of absence as long as ’e pleases. It’s my opinion that some the ’osses o’ the western prairies ain’t quite eekal to some o’ the ’osses I’ve bin used to in Rotten Row. Is this the place, Hunky? Well, now,” continued the little man, with flashing eyes,............