LIFE IN THE FAR WEST 123 



sallied out of their lodges to seize upon sundry of the 

 younger and plumper of the pack, to fill the kettles for 

 the approaching feast. With a presentiment of the fate 

 in store for them, the curs slunk away with tails between 

 their legs, and declined the pressing invitations of the 

 anxious squaws. These shouldered their tomahawks 

 and gave chase ; but the cunning pups outstripped 

 them, and would have fairly beaten the kettles, if some 

 of the mountaineers had not stepped out with their rifles, 

 and quickly laid half-a-dozen ready to the knife. A 

 cayeute, attracted by the scent of blood, drew near, 

 unwitting of the canine feast in progress, and was like- 

 wise soon made dog of, and thrust into the boiling kettle 

 with the rest 



The feast that night was long protracted ; and so 

 savoury was the stew, and so agreeable to the palates of 

 the hungry hunters, that at the moment the last morsel 

 was drawn from the pot, when all were regretting that a 

 few more dogs had not been slaughtered, a wolfish- 

 looking cur, who incautiously poked his long nose and 

 head under the lodge skin, was pounced upon by the 

 nearest hunter, who in a moment drew his knife across 

 the animal's throat, and threw it to a squaw to skin and 

 prepare for the pot. The wolf had long since been 

 vigorously discussed, and voted by all hands to be "good 

 as dog." 



" Meat 's meat," is a common saying in the mountains, 

 and from the buffalo down to the rattlesnake, including 

 every quadruped that runs, every fowl that flies, and 

 every reptile that creeps, nothing comes amiss to the 



