n the dust--literally, for he had
ploughed completely through the superincumbent turf.

Fortunately for poor Eaglenose, Rushing River carried a gun, with which
he shot the bull through the heart and galloped on. So did the other
Indians. They were not going to miss the sport for the sake of helping
a fallen comrade to rise.

When at last the unfortunate youth raised his head he presented an
appearance which would have justified the change of his name to
Turkeycocknose, so severe was the effect of his fall.

Getting into a sitting posture, the poor fellow at first looked dazed.
Then observing something between his eyes that was considerably larger
than even he had been accustomed to, he gently raised his hand to his
face and touched it. The touch was painful, so he desisted. Then he
arose, remounted his steed, which stood close to him, looking stupid
after the concussion, and followed the hunt, which by that time was on
the horizon.

But something worse was in store for another member of the band that
day. After killing the buffalo bull, as before described, the chief
Rushing River proceeded to reload his gun.

Now it must be known that in the days we write of the firearms supplied
to the Nor'-west Indians were of very inferior quality. They were
single flint-lock guns, with blue-stained barrels of a dangerously
brittle character, and red-painted brass-mounted stocks, that gave them
the appearance of huge toys. It was a piece of this description which
Rushing River carried, and which he proceeded to reload in the usual
manner--that is, holding the gun under his left arm, he poured some
powder from a horn into his left palm; this he poured from his palm into
the gun, and, without wadding or ramming, dropped after the powder a
bullet from his mouth, in which magazine he carried several bullets so
as to be ready. Then driving the butt of the gun violently against the
pommel of the saddle, so as to send the whole charge home and cause the
weapon to prime itself, he aimed at the buffalo and fired.

Charges thus loosely managed do not always go quite "home." In this
case the ball had stuck half-way down, and when the charge exploded the
gun burst and carried away the little finger of the chief's left hand.
But it did more. A piece of the barrel struck the chief on the head,
and he fell from his horse as if he had been shot.

This catastrophe brought the hunt to a speedy close. The Indians
assembled round the