American Big-Game Hunting 
man. As I had not for months set eyes upon 
any white man except my own immediate 
party, this was a treat as pleasant as it was 
unexpected. The fact that “Coffee” boldly de- 
serted me here did not deter me from staying 
to dinner, especially when I saw they had 
both coffee and flapjacks,—delicacies that I 
had not reveled in for some weeks past. 
After spending an hour with them, I started 
down the creek, leaving poor Kentuck thor- 
oughly exhausted from loss of blood, and 
unable to walk another step. To the astonish- 
ment of the boys, I walked into the stockade 
with a piece of bacon swinging in one hand 
and a sack of flour on my back. I doubt if 
they would have been more surprised had I 
walked in with General Grant and Queen 
Victoria on either arm. 
“Coffee” had made a bee-line for home, 
anxious to be relieved of a load he had car- 
ried continuously for almost twenty-four hours. 
As I was so long in following him, they were 
beginning to feel alarmed at the continued 
absence of ‘Blue Grass,”—-a name given me 
by Joe, and one that clung to me throughout 
my stay in the Black Hills. 
88 
