Following a band of buffaloes, Mr. Coke was charged by a bull, and awaited his onset, but waited a little too long. “My horse never stirred; I had no time for any thing but to take aim, and having fired between the neck and shoulder, I was the next minute, sprawling on my back, with the mare rolling over four or five yards beyond me. Recovering from the shock, I could not help admiring the picturesque group we presented; I rubbing my bruised limbs, and the buffalo looking on, half stupefied and astonished at the result of his charge.” The contents of the rifle’s second barrel roused the bull from his stupefaction, and he moved off. Up came the unfeeling parson and followed the wounded brute, perfectly heedless of his friend’s mishaps. Quite a man of business was this parson. Mr. Coke gives a description of his appearance in the prairies, on the occasion of his purchase of an Indian pony fourteen hands high. “He weighs fifteen stone, rides on a heavy saddle with a heavy pair of holster pistols, carries a very heavy rifle and telescope, a heavy blanket and great-coat, a pouch full of ammunition, a girdle stuck with small arms and bowie-knives, and always has his pockets crammed with _et ceteras_.” Not altogether the right costume for a stall in a cathedral, although highly appropriate upon the trail to California. Incompatibility of taste and temper at last produced a split in the caravan. Fred went on ahead, expecting to march thirty or thirty-five miles a day. Mr. Coke and the parson kept together, proposing to limit their daily progress to twenty-five miles. It was much oftener sixteen or eighteen, sometimes only seven or ten. The men hired for the journey had become so mutinous and discontented, and, upon the whole, were of so little use, that to two of them a share of the provisions were given, and they were allowed to go alone. Two others marched with Fred, the fifth and last went alone, but occasionally joined company with Mr. Coke and the parson, who were otherwise without attendants, and who had eleven animals to drive and look after—“an awful number for two men,” especially when they were unused to horse-driving and to the management of the abominably vicious, obstinate, perverse brutes of mules, which were constantly kicking off their loads, biting their masters, and straying from camp. The first day’s march after the separation was the most unpleasant they had yet had. The rain fell in chilling torrents; a little black mule, the vixen of the party, kicked Mr. Coke to the ground; and a gray one, her rival in mischief, who bit like a dog, made a furious attack upon his calves. The distance accomplished was but six miles. There were worse times coming, however, even than these. The trouble occasioned by the mules and horses was soon diminished by the loss of three or four of them, strayed, stolen, or foundered. The country was barren and inhospitable, and destitute of game, and often