f, and the toughness of the Wolf,
into the kind of his Train-Dogs. And because of all this, I, who
am a Dog, am outcasted."

"Well, we'll soon all be gone," sighed the Bull, plaintively;
"when I was a Smooth Horn, and in the full glory of my strength--"

"Thou must have been of a great strength, Shag, for thou art the
biggest Bull from Belly Buttes to Old Man River--Waugh! Waugh!
that I can swear to."

"In those days," continued Shag, taking a swinging lick at his
scraggy hide with his rough tongue, "in those days, when I was a
Smooth Horn, I led a Herd that caused the sweet-grass plain to
tremble like water when we galloped over it. We were as
locusts--that many; and when crossing a coulee I've turned with
pride on the opposite bank--I always went first--and, looking
back, saw the whole hollow just a waving mass of life. Such life,
too, Lone Dog; silk-coated Cows with Calf at knee; and Bulls
there were full many--because I tolerated them, of course--and
all strong and fat, and troubled by nothing but, perchance, in
the Cold Time a few days of the White Storm which covered our
food. But that did not matter much; we just drifted head on to
the harsh-edged blizzard, and lived on the thick fat of our
kidneys."

"But the Redmen--the hairless-faced ones," interrupted Dog-Wolf;
"they killed many a Buffalo in the old days."

"We could spare them," replied Shag; "their Deathshafts of wood
slew but a few. Like yourself, A'tim, they killed only when they
were hungry. It's the many-breathed Fire-stick of the Paleface
that has destroyed us, A'tim; but like you, Brother, I, who am
but an Outcast because of my great age, and because my horns have
become stubs, care not overmuch. Why should I lament over my own
people who have driven me forth--made of me an Outcast?"

"There is to be a big Run to-morrow--a mighty Kill," said A'tim,
growing tired of the old Bull's reminiscent wail.

"Where?" queried the other.

"At Stone Hill Corral. Eagle Shoe says they will kill five
hundred head."

"I know," sighed Shag--"at the Pound; I know that death-trap.
Half a Herd I lost there once through the conceit of a young Bull
hardly out of the Spike Horn age. Well I know the Pound--even the
old Indian of deep cunning who made it, Chief Poundmaker--that's
how he came by his name, A'tim. But, as I was saying, when I
tried to turn the Herd, knowing what was meant, this Calf Bull
led a part of them straight into the very trap. Served him rig