d flint
arrow-heads stung their hearts like angry serpents. Oh, blessed
quick death! better than the smother and trample that beat out
the lives of others, inch by inch. The gun fire belched hot in
their faces; the bellowing of Bulls almost hushed the Hunt-Cry of
the Redman.

For an hour the full carnage lived; the joy of blood-shedding was
over the Indians; gray-aged warriors and lean-chested children,
all drank of the glory of slaughter. Skinning-knife in hand, the
Squaws waited for the tumult to subside that they might complete
the tragedy.

At last no Buffalo chased hopelessly over the dead bodies of his
fellows, seeking a vain safety; all were stricken to their
death--not one had escaped. No bellowing was heard now; nothing
but the victory clamor of the rabble and the gasping choke of
dying Buffalo. Out on the prairie the silly Calf wandered like a
lost babe--the only survivor of a king-led Herd.

Like butchers, the strong-backed Squaws leaped into the arena,
its stone floor slippery with blood, and stripped the bodies of
their victims. The Indians, their warrior pride holding them
aloof from this menial labor, sat and gloried in the mighty Kill.

Shag and the Dog-Wolf had heard the din from afar. "They will not
poison the meat to-night," muttered A'tim, "and when they have
gorged themselves to sleep, I also shall feast, for it must have
been a great Kill."

"It's dreadful!" lamented Shag; "it's dreadful! I can't eat--the
grass tastes of blood, for this Kill has been of my kind. It is
different with you, A'tim. I will sleep here in this near-by
coulee, and when you have feasted, Dog Brother, come back to me,
for I am sad and my heart is heavy; come back, A'tim, and sleep
warm against my side."

Far into the night, by the light of dry willow fires, like
dancing ghouls, the Squaws cut and hacked and laid bare the bones
that had been joyous in much life at sunrise.

Over the camp-fires, for long hours, the pots boiled and bubbled
with the cooking meat--the delicious Buffalo flesh that was meat
and bread to the Indians; and beside the glowing embers huge
joints spitted on sharp sticks sizzled and threw off a perfume
that came to the starved nostrils of A'tim, and almost crazed him
with eager hunger.

Would the Indians never cease eating? he wondered. Close-crept,
he watched Eagle Shoe take a piece of the luscious "back
fat"--ah, well A'tim knew the loin!--and devour it greedily. How
like vultures these fe