LIFE IN THE FAB WEST 163 



meat* myself, and wouldn't ask no one to do it neither; 

 but meat fair killed is meat any way ; so, boy, put your 

 knife in this old niggur's lights, and help yourself. It's 

 * poor bull,' I know, but maybe it'll do to keep life in ; 

 and along the fleece thar's meat yet, and maybe my old 

 hump ribs has picking on 'em." 



" You're a good old hos," answered La Bonte, " but 

 this child ain't turned niggur yet." 



Killbuck then begged his companion to leave him 

 to his fate, and strive himself to reach game ; but this 

 alternative La Bontd likewise generously refused, and 

 faintly endeavouring to cheer the sick man, left him 

 once again to look for game. He was so weak that he 

 felt difficulty in supporting himself; and knowing how 

 futile would be his attempts to hunt, he sallied from the 

 camp, convinced that a few hours more would see the 

 last of him. 



He had scarcely raised his eyes, when, hardly credit- 

 ing his senses, he saw within a few hundred yards of 

 him an old bull, worn with age, lying on the prairie. 

 Two wolves were seated on their haunches before him, 

 their tongues lolling from their mouths, whilst the buffalo 

 was impotently rolling his ponderous head from side to 

 side, his blood-shot eyes glaring fiercely at his tormentors, 

 and flakes of foam, mixed with blood, dropping from 

 his mouth over his long shaggy beard. La Bonte was 

 transfixed; he scarcely dared to breathe, lest the animal 

 should be alarmed and escape. Weak as it was, he 

 could hardly have followed it, and, knowing that his 

 * Carrion. 



