ow to live if only to trail those fellows and kill them.

Yes, by thunder, he'd crawl clear to Fort Henry at the Yellowstone and
shoot the two in their tracks!

He was too weak to sit or stand, but he managed to draw himself along
and find a spring. There he lay, day and night, picking the fruit from
the low wild-cherry and buffalo-berry bushes as far as he might reach,
and dozing and bathing his wounds; and he got stronger. The tide of
life crept higher and higher. Trapper Hugh knew that he was going to
live. But he was scarred redly from head to foot, had lost part of his
whiskers and part of his hair; was peeled to the bone, in places. What
a face he had, although he could not see it!

In about ten days he was ready to travel. The nearest trading-post
that he knew of was fully one hundred miles southeast, on the Missouri.
That looked like a long, long distance for a man who could not walk
straight and had not even a knife. But he was bound to go, get patched
up, and find those two villains who had abandoned him--who had left him
as dead when he wasn't dead at all!

He managed to find roots, and more berries. At last, on his
staggering, slow way, he sighted a late buffalo-calf surrounded by
wolves. The wolves killed the calf. He waited until they had dulled
their appetites; then waving his arms and shouting he staggered in upon
them. He was enough to put almost anything to flight. The wolves
dropped their bushy tails and slunk off; and Hugh Glass thankfully
"chawed" the raw, warm meat.

He stayed here a short time. He went on, stronger. He came to a
deserted Indian village. A few Indian dogs were prowling around. He
was very hungry again. He spent two days in coaxing the dogs to him,
in order to get his hands upon one. Then he killed it and partly ate
it. Living thus, by his wits, like a wild animal or a wild man, he
arrived at the trading post near the mouth of the Teton or Mad River,
central South Dakota.

But he did not stay long--not even to get patched up. A party of
trappers arrived, in a boat from down-river; they were going above, to
the Yellowstone--the very spot for which he hankered and where his
revenge waited. He embarked. The Arikaras ambushed the boat and
killed all the party except Hugh Glass.

They did not get the scalp of old Hugh; no, indeed. He bore a charmed
life. He had left the boat, the day before, to make a short cut to
Fort Tilton, which lay around a bend. The