more rare, and at last ceased altogether. We remained but a short time longer, and after visiting the lodges of several others, returned to our tents. CHAP. XIX. DOMESTIC GRIEVANCES. Among the number of our daily visitors, were three old squaws, hideously ugly, and filthy in the extreme. Wrinkle upon wrinkle covered their faces, and layer upon layer of dirt covered the wrinkles. Their long, gray, uncombed hair, hung in thick, matted locks, reaching nearly to their waists; and each of their long skinny arms, with which they coaxingly patted us, resembled in appearance and delicacy the trunk of a grape vine. These old harridans were perfect nuisances. They were constantly lingering about the door of the tent, on the look-out for plunder. They seemed to possess the power of ubiquity; it would have puzzled Argus to keep track of their movements. They were shuffling around all day long, peeping into every hole and cranny. One of them even stole meat from the frying pan, while the black cook turned his head to drive off the other. Come upon them when we might, they were always sure to greet us with a half-smirking, half-piteous look; but the moment we turned away, they were at their old occupations. They were so constantly at work, that there was some talk of appointing a person whose sole employment should be to keep a keen eye to their movements. They lived at our tent doors, and, for aught we knew to the contrary, might sleep there too; for we left them there in the evenings, and we found them at their posts before sunrise. Indeed, so constant was their presence, that the sight of one of them moving off towards the town was the signal for a general search, as they seldom made their disappearance without taking with them some article which did not belong to them. They had taken a particular fancy to Jones, the black cook. This unlucky wight was yet young in years, and inexperienced in the ways of the world. He had a fond and foolish heart, and acknowledged that he always felt a sort of sneaking kindness for the other sex. When dwelling upon the subject, he used to open his eyes, until the small speck of a pupil was almost lost in the immense field of white, and exclaim, “I a’nt afeard of no man; but I can’t stand the wimmen.”