82 L I F E I N T li E F A R W E S T . 



ing on a pack to get an uninterrupted sight for a last shot, when 

 one of the random bullets struck him in the breast. La Bonte 

 caught him in his arms as he was about to fall, and laying the 

 wounded trapper gently on the ground, stripped him of his buck- 

 skin hunting-frock, to examine the wound. A glance was suffi- 

 cient to convince his companions that the blow was mortal. The 

 ball had passed through the lungs : and in a few moments the throat 

 of the wounded man swelled and turned to a livid blue color, as 

 the choking blood descended. Only a few drops of purple blood 

 trickled from the wound — a fatal sign — and the eyes of the moun- 

 taineer were already glazing with death's icy touch. His hand 

 still grasped the barrel of his rifle, M^iich had done good service in 

 the li'ay. Anon he essayed to speak, but, choked with blood, only 

 a few inarticulate words reached the ears of his companions, as 

 they bent over him. 



" Pvubbed — out — at — last," they heard him say, the words 

 gurgling in his blood-filled throat ; and opening his eyes once 

 more, and turning them upward for a last look at the bright sun, 

 the trapper turned gently on his side and breathed his last sigh. 



With no other tools than their scalp-knives, the hunters dug a 

 grave on the banks of the creek ; and while some were engaged in 

 this work, others sought the bodies of the Indians they had slain 

 in the attack, and presently returned with three reeking scalps, the 

 trophies of the fight. The body of the mountaineer was wrapped 

 in a buffalo robe, the scalps being placed on his breast, and the dead 

 man was then laid in the shallow grave, and quickly covered — 

 without a word of prayer, or sigh of grief; for, however much his 

 companions may have felt, not a word escaped them. The bitten 

 lip and frowning brow told of anger rather than of sorrow, as they 

 vowed — what they thought would better please the spirit of the 

 dead man than vain regrets — bloody and lasting revenge. 



Trampling down the earth which filled the grave, they raised 

 upon it a pile of heavy stones ; and packing their mules once more 



