"In a civilised country, yes; but in the desert it is as bad as fifty leagues," responded Clinton. "I did not think of that," granted the squatter; "well, then, on the other side, what neighbours have we?" "Some squatters, like yourselves, who have been two years on the Missouri. You are halfway between the two." "Have these squatters much cultivated land?" "They have been going ahead lately. It is already almost a village; soon it will be a town. But anyway, on one side or the other you are separated from men of your own colour by several Indian nations, whose villages it would be dangerous to visit, except in large numbers. In fact your only open route is the Missouri." "That is something; but, if easy to go down, it is hard to ascend." "Besides, both sides swarm with redskins." "Hum! My dear George, that spoils all. What could put it into the mad head of my brother to bring us here? He is a lunatic; for the matter of that, so am I." George could not help laughing. "Laugh away, you young rascal," said the squatter; "but if we have to leave our bones here?" "I hope it will not be so," replied George. "Jehoshaphat! So do I. Your information is not pleasant; still I thank you. It is best to know the worst." While speaking they kept on at as rapid a pace as the state of the ground allowed. They had left the forest, and had come out upon a green prairie, when suddenly they heard a gun fired. "What is that?" cried the squatter. "Charbonneau. I know the sound. Wait a minute." And Clinton fired his rifle in the air. Next instant there was a rush from out of a thicket, and two magnificent dogs of the same breed as Dardar came rushing out of a thicket, and, leaping at the young man to beg a caress, continued at the same time to growl at the squatter. "Down, dogs, down!" cried the young man. "Down, I say, Nadeje, miss, and you the same, Drack; don't be mischievous. This gentleman, my fine fellows, is a friend; go and welcome him, to show what brave and intelligent beasts you are." As if they had understood what their master said, the two dogs ceased to growl, and, going straight to Samuel Dickson, leaped up at him in the most friendly way. The squatter, a great dog fancier, was very much struck by their beauty, and at once caressed them with many a word of praise, which pleased both, but especially Miss Nadeje; she was a magnificent animal, with an almost pure white skin, spotted only here and there with black, and at once took the squatter under her guardianship. Almost at the same moment a man appeared in the full costume of a hunter, a man with rather angular but very intelligent features; in his hand was the still-smoking gun. He bowed, and called off the dogs. "Pardieu!" he cried, "That was a lucky shot of mine." "Were you hunting?" asked the other, shaking hands. "At this hour it were folly, and I am not yet mad. Sport is only good morning and evening, is it not?" "That is my opinion," replied the squatter.