It was my first experience of camping out and , as I had become pretty well convinced that Peter Crow was not the typical Indian of old romance , I enjoyed it all hugely . But we were both very tired , and as soon as we had finished eating we betook ourselves to our tent and found our brush beds much more comfortable than I had expected . Old Peter coiled up on his blanket outside by the fire , and the great silence of a windless prairie enwrapped us . In a few minutes we were sound asleep and never wakened until seven o'clock . * * * * * When we arose and lifted the flap of the tent we saw a peculiar sight . The little elevation on which we had pitched our camp seemed to be an island in a vast sea of white mist , dotted here and there with other islands . On every hand to the far horizon stretched that strange , phantasmal ocean , and a hazy sun looked over the shifting billows . I had never seen a western mist before and I thought it extremely beautiful ; but Kate , to whom it was no novelty , was more cumbered with breakfast cares . `` I 'm ravenous , '' she said , as she bustled about among our stores . `` Camping out always does give one such an appetite . Are n't you hungry , Phil ? '' `` Comfortably so , '' I admitted . `` But where are our ponies ? And where is Peter Crow ? '' `` Probably the ponies have strayed away looking for pea vines . They love and adore pea vines , '' said Kate , stirring up the fire from under its blanket of grey ashes . `` And Peter Crow has gone to look for them , good old fellow . When you do get a conscientious Indian there is no better guide in the world , but they are rare . Now , Philippa-girl , just pry out the sergeant 's ham and shave a few slices off it for our breakfast . Some savoury fried ham always goes well on the prairie . ''
I went XXXXX the ham but could not find it .
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