The thorough drenching which they had received, seemed to have soaked all pride and dignity, out of our Indian companions. They crouched like wet poultry round the fire, shutting their eyes, and holding their breath, determined to receive some of its warmth, in defiance of the clouds of smoke which it threw into their faces. Here and there, were small groups squatting out in the prairie; each man was huddled up into a knot, with the rain pouring in streams down his shaggy robe, and dripping off into the grass. The paint was drenched from his face, and his whole demeanour so utterly changed, that it was almost impossible to recognize the proud, haughty warrior, in the dripping, bedraggled being, then crouching in the grass, beneath the pelting storm. Once or twice, some poor, half-drowned fellow, with a desperate attempt at jovialty, struck up a song, with a come-let’s-be-jolly kind of an air, which was intended to set the weather and fortune at defiance; but it was a failure. At the commencement one or two voices struck in with valorous spirit, but finding that they were not supported, they gradually sunk into silence, leaving the person who had commenced the strain, to finish it as well as he might. Drip—drip—drip—pattered the rain into a tin bucket, placed in the tent to receive it. At length a large puddle which had collected in the rear, overflowed its banks, and stole in a small rivulet through the centre of the tent. A smothered oath from one of the party, who was seated in the very track of the water, announced its intrusion. Several of the soldiers were then sent out, with pails and shovels, and in a short time succeeded in draining a part of the pond, and digging a different outlet for its waters. Just then the yelping of a cur was heard at a little distance, in a clump of bushes, which the Wild Horse had chosen for his residence. “So! the dog too is a sufferer on account of the inclemency of the weather. No doubt the Wild Horse is completely drenched, and in a terrible fume.” Another hour passed, but still the rain continued. Just then the entrance of the tent was darkened, and the Wild Horse entered. He held in his hand a large wooden bowl, filled with boiled flesh, which he placed smoking before us. We were informed that it was dog flesh, and invited to try it. The soldiers had also received a share, but without being told what it was. “What is it,” said one, taking up a small morsel, and holding it to his nose, “is it venison?” “It tastes odd,” said another, biting in two a large piece. Several of them then commenced an attack upon the contents of their bowl. “I don’t exactly _know_ what animal this belongs to,” said one of them, who was eating heartily; “and to tell the truth, I don’t altogether like the _strangeish_ taste, there is about it.”