72 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



sleuths of the trail and seen the devourers leap on a 

 fallen comrade before death has come, and yet does 

 not know what those vague, gray forms are, always 

 hovering behind him, always sneaking to the crest of a 

 hill when he hides in the valley, always skulking 

 through the prairie grass when he goes to a lookout 

 on the crest of the hill, always stopping when he stops, 

 creeping closer when he lies down, scuttling when he 

 wheels, snapping at his heels when he stoops for a drink ? 

 If the buffalo did not know what these creatures meant, 

 he would not have spent his entire life from calfhood 

 guarding against them. But he does know ; and there 

 in lies the tragedy of the old king s end. He invaria 

 bly seeks out some steep background where he can 

 take his last stand against the wolves with a face to 

 the foe. 



But the end is inevitable. 



While the main pack baits him to the fore, skulkers 

 dart to the rear; and when, after a struggle that lasts 

 for days, his hind legs sink powerless under him, ham 

 strung by the snap of some vicious coyote, he still keeps 

 his face to the foe. But in sheer horror of the tragedy 

 the rest is untellable; for the hungry creatures that 

 prey do not wait till death comes to the victim. 



Poor old king ! Is anything that man has ever done 

 to the buffalo herd half as tragically pitiful as nature s 

 process of deposing a buffalo leader? 



Catlin and Inman and every traveller familiar with 

 the great plains region between the Arkansas and Sas 

 katchewan testify that the quick death of the bullet was, 

 indeed, the mercy stroke compared to nature s end of 

 her wild creatures. In Colonel Bedson s herd the 

 fighters were always parted before either was disabled; 



