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. Il 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? NotI. Pll 
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 eborty wizard! Not dead 
yet, I thank you! and I stared at its carnal glance. Its 
gray, scaly legs had stains upon them—uairs 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 haye fled 
away, and there is nothing but the sky and sun above, and 
sands and rocks beneath; the winnow of their. black wings 
stirs the dead air, and their harsh, sepulchral croak, startles 
