I cannot express the bitterness of the feeling that came over me. It was no longer the sense of outraged humanity which filled my heart. Selfishness usurped the ground altogether, and it was the injured honor of a leader whose orders had been despised. It was the affront to my authority wounded me so deeply. Then I fancied to myself their triumphant return to the camp, laden with the spoils of victory, and full of heroic stories of their own deeds; while I, the captain of the band, should have nothing to contribute but a lame narrative of misplaced compassion, which some might call by even a harsher name. Alas for weak principle! I wished myself back at their head a hundred times over. There was no atrocity that, for a minute or two, I did not feel myself capable of; I really believe that if any other course were open to me, I had never turned my steps back toward the camp. Crest-fallen and sad indeed was I as I rode forward,--now cursing the insubordinate rabble that deserted me; now inveighing against my own silly efforts to change the ferocious instincts of such natures. In my bitterness of spirit I attributed all to my foolish ambition of being "the gentleman." What business had such a character there? or what possible link could bind him to such companionship? In my discontent, too, I fancied that these "gentlemen" traits were like studding-sails, only available in fine weather and with a fair wind, but that for the storms and squalls of life such fine-spun canvas was altogether unsuited. Is it needful I should say that I lived to discover this to be an error? To reach the camp ere nightfall, I was obliged to ride fast, and the quick stride of my "half-breed" did more to rally my spirits than all my philosophizings.