uicy
steaks sounded like a sweet lullaby far on into the night; that the
contents of marrow-bones oiled the fingers, to say nothing of the
mouths, cheeks, and noses, of man, woman, and child? Is it surprising
that people who had been on short allowance for a considerable time past
took advantage of the occasion and ate till they could hardly stand?

Truly they made a night of it. Their Indian visitors, who constituted
themselves camp-followers, gorged themselves to perfect satisfaction,
and even the dogs, who had a full allowance, licked their lips that
night with inexpressible felicity.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

SOME OF THE SHADOWS OF A BUFFALO-HUNTER'S LIFE.

In order to give the women time to prepare some pemmican for them,
Victor Ravenshaw and his companions agreed to spend another day with the
hunters, and again, as a matter of course, followed them to the chase.

The same wild pursuit, accompanied by accidents, serious and
serio-comic, took place, and success again attended the hunt, but the
day did not end so happily, owing to an event which filled the camp with
great anxiety. It happened at the close of the day.

The men were dropping into camp by twos and threes, wearied with hard
work, more or less covered with dust and blood, and laden with buffalo
tongues. Carts, also, were constantly coming in, filled with meat. The
women were busy cutting up and drying the meat in the sun, or over a
slow fire, melting down fat, pounding the dried meat with stones, and
manufacturing bags out of the raw hides. Chatting and merry laughter
resounded on all sides, for pemmican and bales of dried meat meant
money, and they were coining it fast.

Towards sunset a band of several hunters appeared on the ridge in front
of the camp, and came careering gaily towards it. Baptiste Warder, the
mighty captain, led. Victor, Ian, Rollin, Winklemann, Flett, Mowat, and
others followed. They dashed into camp like a whirlwind, and sprang
from their steeds, evidently well pleased with the success of the day.

"Had splendid sport," said Victor, with glittering eyes, to one of the
subordinate captains, who addressed him. "I killed ten animals myself,
and Ian Macdonald missed fifteen; Winklemann dropped six, besides
dropping himself--"

"Vat is dat you zay?" demanded the big German, who was divesting himself
of some of the accoutrements of the chase.

"I say that you tumbled over six buffaloes and then tumbled over
yourself," said