IN THE OLD WEST 118 



Sweet was the digestive pipe after such a feast ; 

 soft was the sleep and deep, which sealed the eyes 

 of the contented trappers that night. It felt like 

 the old thing, they said, to be once more amongst 

 the " meat " ; and, as they were drawing near the 

 dangerous portion of the trail, they felt at home; 

 although they now could never be confident, when 

 they lay down at night upon their bufFalo-robes, 

 of awaking again in this life, knowing, as they 

 did, full well, that savage men lurked near, thirst- 

 ing for their blood. 



However, no enemies showed themselves as yet, 

 and they proceeded quietly up the river, vast herds 

 of buffaloes darkening the plains around them, 

 affording them more than abundance of the choic- 

 est meat ; but, to their credit be it spoken, no 

 more was killed than was absolutely required — 

 unlike the cruel slaughter made by most of the 

 white travelers across the plains, who wantonly 

 destroy these noble animals, not even for the ex- 

 citement of sport, but in cold-blooded and insane 

 butchery. La Bonte had practice enough to per- 

 fect him in the art, and, before the buffalo 

 range was passed, he was ranked as a first-rate 

 hunter. 



One evening he had left the camp for meat, and 

 was approaching a band of cows for that pur- 

 pose, crawling towards them along the bed of 

 a dry hollow in the prairie, when he observed 

 them suddenly jump towards him, and immediately 



