The Prairie Sharp-tailed Grouse 205 



In a spirit of deviltry my comrade offered to 

 prepare the doubtful scion of an erstwhile alleged 

 noble race a square meal — and he did ! While 

 we were fooling round the pot, trying to slip in 

 the kerosene, the Indian grunted and pointed at 

 something in the grass. I snatched up a gun and 

 bowled over a particularly fine skunk which ap- 

 peared to be working up-wind — possibly attracted 

 by the smell of our viands. If that was his clew, 

 he speedily lost it, for presently there came to us 

 a brand of ozone such as no mortal man could 

 tolerate, for the skunk was not quite dead, although 

 at a rough guess I should have said it had died 

 some time previously. 



My friend never turned a hair, but went with 

 the Indian to get the skin, as he started whisper- 

 ing — " Fix the grub for the chief." Into the pot 

 went everything ! sugar, tea, pepper, salt, for we 

 needed them no more. I was cutting the second 

 shell to make sure that the redskin got enough 

 powder to " blow himself " properly, when they 

 came back, one carrying the skin and the other 

 the carcass of the skunk. I promptly beat a re- 

 treat, leaving behind a dust-cloud of carelessly 

 selected Saxon speech, and presently my friend 

 followed. From a safe distance we watched the 

 chief calmly add the fragments of the skunk to 

 his stew ! After a bit — long before the meat 

 could be half boiled — he began to take in cargo, 



