when the animal reared up on its
hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung off;
and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of
supplication.

I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped.
I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the
pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward
upon the body of one of the animals.

"Wagh! Rube!" exclaimed one of the men; "why didn't ye give him time to
skin the meat? He mout as well 'a done that when he war about it;" and
the man laughed at his savage jest.

"Look 'ee hyur, boyees!" said Rube, pointing to the motte; "if 'ee look
sharp, yur mout scare up another calf yander away! I'm a-gwine to see
arter this Injun's har; I am."

The hunters, at the suggestion, galloped off to surround the motte.

I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of
blood. I drew my rein almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the
spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked
to the breech-clout. There was the debouchure of a bullet below the
left shoulder, and the black-red stream was trickling down his ribs.
The limbs still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life.

The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had
been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were
crimsoned to the notch, the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to
the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing
through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives! The old trapper
rode up to the corpse, and leisurely dismounted from his mare.

"Fifty dollar a plew!" he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping
over the body. "It's more'n I got for my own. It beats beaver all
hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child. Plew a plug--ain't worth trappin'
if the varmint wur as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time. 'Ee up,
niggur," he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage, and holding
the face upward; "let's get a squint of your phisog. Hooraw! Coyote
'Pash! Hooraw!"

And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he
uttered these wild exclamations.

"Apash, is he?" asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the
spot.

"That he are, Coyote 'Pash, the very niggurs that bobtailed this child's
ears. I kin swar to thur ugly picters anywhur I get my