LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 139 



him, and in an almost inarticulate voice desired him to seat him- 

 self hy his side. 



" Boy," he said, " this old hos feels like goin' under, and that 

 afore long. You're stout yet, and if thar was meat handy, you'd 

 ■^ome round slick. Now, boy, I'll be under, as I said, afore many 

 lours, and if you don't raise meat you'll be in the same fix. I 

 never eat dead 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 

 'era." 



" 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 Bonte 

 likewise generously refused, and faintly endeavoring 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 crediting hia 

 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, 

 while 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, 



** Carrion. 



