KILLED BY THE INDIANS 



One day Jack and I had been killing some buf- 

 falo for wolf baits on the high prairie south of our 

 camp. We had become separated by a couple of 

 miles; each had killed his buffalo, and I had poi- 

 soned mine and started to Jack, who was wait- 

 ing for me to prepare his buffalo for the wolves 

 also. As I rode through a scattered lot of bones, 

 where several animals seemed to have been killed 

 together, I noticed among the lot a human skull. 

 Looking more closely, I saw other human bones 

 of the same skeleton and those of a horse, the 

 hoofs of which, with the shoes still on, showed 

 that it had not been an Indian's horse. Bones of 

 wolves lay among the others. 



Here, then, seemed the evidences of a past 

 tragedy, and, wishing to have Jack come and help 

 to read the signs, I rode out clear of this bone- 

 yard, fired a shot from my rifle to attract his at- 

 tention, and then began riding around in a circle — 

 the usual signal in such cases — to call him to me. 



He understood and galloped toward me. While 

 he was coming I walked about among the relics, 

 trying to solve the mystery of which these bones 

 were the record. They had been somewhat scat- 

 tered, by the wolves that had picked them, but 

 their general lay indicated pretty clearly the rela- 

 tive situation of the man and animals at the time 

 of their death. The bones had probably not been 

 there more than about a year. 



Although somewhat mixed and scattered, the 



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