heels.

At this the redskins put their steeds to the gallop, but did not at once
overtake their prey. Clumsy though their gait was, the buffaloes were
swift and strong, causing the whole plain to resound under their mighty
tread. Indian steeds, however, are wiry and enduring. By slow degrees
they lessened the distance between them--both pursued and pursuers
lengthening out their ranks as the "fittest" came to the front.
Thundering on, they approached one of the large clumps of woodland, with
which the plain was covered, as with islets. The patriarch led to the
left of it. The savages, sweeping aside, took to the right.

The sudden disappearance of the pursuers seemed to surprise the
patriarch, who slackened his pace a little, and, lifting his shaggy
head, looked right and left inquiringly. "Was it all a dream!" he
thought--no doubt.

If he thought it was, he received in a few minutes a rude awakening, for
the redskins came sweeping round the other end of the clump of trees,
yelling like fiends, brandishing their weapons and urging their steeds
to the uttermost.

To snort, bellow, turn off at a tangent, and scurry along faster than
ever, was the work of a moment, but it was too late! The savages were
in the midst of the snorting host. Bows were bent and guns were
levelled. The latter were smooth-bores, cheap, and more or less
inaccurate, but that mattered not.

Where the range was only two or three yards, guns and bows were true
enough for the end in view. At such work even bad shots met their
reward. Arrows sank to the feathers; bullets penetrated to the heart or
shattered the bones. Ere long numerous black lumps on the prairie told
of death to the quadrupeds and success to the bipeds.

But I do not drag the reader here merely to tell of savage sport and
butchery. The Indian was only following his vocation--working for his
food.

That same evening two of the Indians stood on a hillock, a little apart
from their camp where smoking fires and roasting meat and marrow-bones,
and ravenously-feeding men and women, and gorging little boys and girls,
formed a scene that was interesting though not refined. One of the
Indians referred to was Big Otter. The other was Muskrat, the old chief
of his tribe.

"Does my father not know?" said Big Otter, deferentially, "that Attick
plans mischief against the pale-faces of Wichikagan?"

"No, Big Otter," returned the old chief with a scowl; "Muskrat does not
know