he white covering of the cart
and the little black specks of horsemen before and behind it. Drawing
near, I recognized Shaw's elegant tunic, the red flannel shirt,
conspicuous far off. I overtook the party, and asked him what success he
had met with. He had assailed a fat cow, shot her with two bullets, and
mortally wounded her. But neither of us were prepared for the chase that
afternoon, and Shaw, like myself, had no spare bullets in his pouch;
so he abandoned the disabled animal to Henry Chatillon, who followed,
dispatched her with his rifle, and loaded his horse with her meat.

We encamped close to the river. The night was dark, and as we lay down
we could hear mingled with the howling of wolves the hoarse bellowing of
the buffalo, like the ocean beating upon a distant coast.

CHAPTER XXV

THE BUFFALO CAMP

No one in the camp was more active than Jim Gurney, and no one half
so lazy as Ellis. Between these two there was a great antipathy. Ellis
never stirred in the morning until he was compelled to, but Jim was
always on his feet before daybreak; and this morning as usual the sound
of his voice awakened the party.

"Get up, you booby! up with you now, you're fit for nothing but eating
and sleeping. Stop your grumbling and come out of that buffalo robe or
I'll pull it off for you."

Jim's words were interspersed with numerous expletives, which gave them
great additional effect. Ellis drawled out something in a nasal tone
from among the folds of his buffalo robe; then slowly disengaged
himself, rose into sitting posture, stretched his long arms, yawned
hideously, and finally, raising his tall person erect, stood staring
round him to all the four quarters of the horizon. Delorier's fire was
soon blazing, and the horses and mules, loosened from their pickets,
were feeding in the neighboring meadow. When we sat down to breakfast
the prairie was still in the dusky light of morning; and as the sun rose
we were mounted and on our way again.

"A white buffalo!" exclaimed Munroe.

"I'll have that fellow," said Shaw, "if I run my horse to death after
him."

He threw the cover of his gun to Delorier and galloped out upon the
prairie.

"Stop, Mr. Shaw, stop!" called out Henry Chatillon, "you'll run down
your horse for nothing; it's only a white ox."

But Shaw was already out of hearing. The ox, who had no doubt strayed
away from some of the government wagon trains, was standing beneath some
low hills which bo