370 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 



be subtler than the serpent. My scent shall be keener than 

 the sleuth-hound's, my sight than the vulture's. I'll run 

 swifter than the deer. I will wrestle hand to claw with the 

 prairie wolf, that I may tear out his heart to eat but I will 

 baulk that imperious Malignity. Die by inches ? Not I. I'll 

 set the prairie on fire to beacon the Comanches, and dare 

 them to battle for my scalp, or give me food. 



And so the infidel fiend within me mouthed its impotent 

 ravings, in the face of Heaven's Majesty, until I almost 

 fainted with exhaustion. 



I slid out of the tree, and threw myself upon the grass. 

 Long I lay there, half stupefied ; my blood raging and brain 

 whirling with fearful images. A solitary raven "tolled in 

 his hollow beak," and aroused me. I knew it was one of the 

 "ill birds," though I had never seen or heard one before. I 

 looked up. It sat upon the oak just over me, and the limbs 

 were swaying with its weight. It "tolled" that "sick man's 

 requiem" again, then turned its head aside and stared, with 

 "grave inquisition" in its black, glittering eyes, down upon 

 me. You've come too soon, you ebony wizard! Not dead 

 yet, I thank you! and I stared at its carnal glance. Its 

 gray, scaly legs had stains upon them hairs were clotted 

 on its claws, and the fellow had not even wiped his sharp, 

 wedge-like beak clean. 



Think how slovenly, when he came to offer the services of 

 the instrument to pick my eyes out ! What wonder I felt 

 indignant, and the life began to wake up in me again. I 

 did not want him go ! It was a ghastly companionship, but 

 then I had always felt strangely curious about them, for 

 they are wonderful creatures. They live where nothing else 

 can be seen to live out in the trackless desert vast 

 wildernesses of desolation where even the clouds have fled 

 away, and there is nothing but the sky and sun above, and 

 sands and rocks beneath ; the winnow of their black wings 

 Btirs the dead air, and their harsh, sepulchral croak, startles 



