WOUNDED AND ALONE A PKIZK. 353 



sight of them. I have never seen them since, and do 

 not even know their names, nor they mine, though 

 we fought side by side, and fled together. Chance 

 had thrown us into each other's society, common 

 interest had united us for a moment, and now each 

 went his way, caring neither who the other might 

 be, nor what his occupation ; a true picture of Amer- 

 ican life. 



I was again alone, and on foot, and could only 

 make short journeys, as my hand was very painful, 

 and the wound in my side, though not deep, began 

 to suppurate. Lounging slowly on, and keeping my 

 direction as well as I could, I followed the course of 

 *i small stream, and was looking out for a convenient 

 place to camp for the night, when I observed a 

 young buck feeding, without the slightest suspicion 

 of the approach of any being likely to disturb his 

 peace. He passed away in the same happy thought, 

 for my ball pierced his brain. On pulling out my 

 knife to break him up, I could not avoid a shudder 

 on observing the dark stains of blood of human 

 blood. I washed it carefully, for I could not bear 

 the sight. 



I did not take the trouble to skin the deer; in fact, 

 I could not with my wounded hand. So, taking the 

 liver and kidneys, with part of the back, I made a 

 good lire, and soon lay stretched before it enveloped 

 in my blanket, with mv bodv, but not mv mind in 

 repose. 



1 lay for a long time staring at the burning embers, 

 recalling my former life, and forming gloomy pictures 

 of the future ; at last I fell asleep from fatigue. A 

 30* 



