the spot. Now and then some old bull would face toward Henry with
an air of stupid amazement, but none seemed inclined to attack or fly
from him. For some time Shaw lay among the grass, looking in surprise at
this extraordinary sight; at length he crawled cautiously forward, and
spoke in a low voice to Henry, who told him to rise and come on. Still
the buffalo showed no sign of fear; they remained gathered about their
dead companions. Henry had already killed as many cows as we wanted for
use, and Shaw, kneeling behind one of the carcasses, shot five bulls
before the rest thought it necessary to disperse.

The frequent stupidity and infatuation of the buffalo seems the more
remarkable from the contrast it offers to their wildness and wariness at
other times. Henry knew all their peculiarities; he had studied them as
a scholar studies his books, and he derived quite as much pleasure from
the occupation. The buffalo were a kind of companions to him, and, as he
said, he never felt alone when they were about him. He took great pride
in his skill in hunting. Henry was one of the most modest of men; yet,
in the simplicity and frankness of his character, it was quite clear
that he looked upon his pre-eminence in this respect as a thing too
palpable and well established ever to be disputed. But whatever may have
been his estimate of his own skill, it was rather below than above that
which others placed upon it. The only time that I ever saw a shade of
scorn darken his face was when two volunteer soldiers, who had just
killed a buffalo for the first time, undertook to instruct him as to the
best method of "approaching." To borrow an illustration from an opposite
side of life, an Eton boy might as well have sought to enlighten Porson
on the formation of a Greek verb, or a Fleet Street shopkeeper to
instruct Chesterfield concerning a point of etiquette. Henry always
seemed to think that he had a sort of prescriptive right to the buffalo,
and to look upon them as something belonging peculiarly to himself.
Nothing excited his indignation so much as any wanton destruction
committed among the cows, and in his view shooting a calf was a cardinal
sin.

Henry Chatillon and Tete Rouge were of the same age; that is, about
thirty. Henry was twice as large, and fully six times as strong as Tete
Rouge. Henry's face was roughened by winds and storms; Tete Rouge's was
bloated by sherry cobblers and brandy toddy. Henry talked of Indians and
bu