h from it he
expected an answer to his interrogatory.

"It air possyble," he continues after a time, "too possyble--too
likesome. He war well-nigh done up, poor young fellur; an' no wonder.
Whar is he now? He must be down by the side o' the bush--down an' dead.
Ef he war alive, he'd be lookin' out for me. He's gone under; an' this
deer-meat, this water, purcured to no purpiss. I mout as well fling
both away; they'll reach him too late."

Once more resuming his forward stride, he advanced towards the dark mass
above which the vultures are soaring. His shadow, still by a long
distance preceding him, has frightened the birds higher up into the air,
but they show no signs of going altogether away. On the contrary, they
keep circling around, as if they had already commenced a repast, and,
driven off, intend returning to it.

On what have they been banqueting? On the body of his comrade? What
else can be there?

Thus questioning himself, the ex-Ranger advances, his heart still aching
with apprehension. Suddenly his eye alights on the piece of paper
impaled upon the topmost spike of the palmilla. The sight gives him
relief, but only for an instant; his conjectures again leading him
astray.

"Poor young fellur!" is his half-spoken reflection; "he's wrote
somethin' to tell how he died--mayhap somethin' for me to carry back to
the dear 'uns he's left behind in ole Kaintuck. Wall, that thing shall
sartinly be done ef ever this chile gets to the States agin. Darnashin!
only to think how near I war to savin' him; a whole doe deer, an' water
enough to a drownded him! It'll be useless venison now, I shan't care
no more to put tooth into it myself. Frank Hamersley gone dead--the man
o' all others I'd 'a died to keep alive. I'd jest as soon lie down an'
stop breathin' by the side o' him."

While speaking he moves on towards the palmilla. A few strides bring
him so near the tree that he can see the ground surface about its base.
There is something black among the stems of the sage-bushes. It is not
the dead body of a man, but a buzzard, which he knows to be that he had
shot before starting off. The sight of it causes him again to make
stop. It looks draggled and torn, as if partially dismembered.

"Kin he hev been eatin' it? Or war it themselves, the cussed kannybals?
Poor Frank, I reck'n I'll find him on t'other side, his body mangled in
the same way. Darn it, 't air kewrous, too. 'Twar on this side he laid