220 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 



let it fly. The stick held by "Breeches" 



leaped from his grasp as if it had been struck by a club ; 

 another instant, and again the bow was bent ; guiding 

 his horse with his feet, the Indian came alongside of the 

 buffalo, and drove the arrow to the feather into his 

 side. 



A chuckling guttural laugh followed this brilliant 

 exploit, and as the animal, after a few desperate leaps, 

 fell forward and vomited blood, again was repeated the 

 same joyous whoop that so roused our stagnant blood at 

 the beginning of the chase. 



' The instant that " Breeches " dropped his stick, his 

 horse, probably from habit, stopped; and the one on 

 which I rode followed the example. The Indian dis- 

 mounted, and stood beside the buffalo tlie instant he fell. 

 The shaggy and rough appearance of the dead animal — 

 the healthy-looking and ungroomed horse with his roving 

 eye and long mane — and the Indian himself, contem- 

 plating his work like some bronze statue of antique art 

 — formed a group, the simplicity and beautiful wildness 

 of which would have struck the eye of the most in- 

 sensible. 



" Breeches," alike insensible to the charms of the 

 tailor's art, and to the picturesque — handed the Indian 

 his first fired arrow, and then stooping down, with a 

 gentle pressure, thrust the head of the one in the buf- 

 falo through the opposite side from which it entered, 

 and handed it to its owner, with disgust marked upon 



