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 bounded the plain in the distance. Not far from him a
band of veritable buffalo bulls were grazing; and startled at Shaw’s
approach, they all broke into a run, and went scrambling up the
hillsides to gain the high prairie above. One of them in his haste and
terror involved himself in a fatal catastrophe. Along the foot of
the hills was a narrow strip of deep marshy soil, into which the bull
plunged and hopelessly entangled himself. We all rode up to the spot.
The huge carcass was half sunk in the mud, which flowed to his very
chin, and his shaggy mane was outspread upon the surface. As we came
near the bull began to struggle with convulsive strength; he writhed
to and fro, and in the energy of his fright and desperation would lift
himself for a moment half out of the slough, while the reluctant mire
returned a sucking sound as he strained to drag his limbs from its
tenacious depths. We stimulated his exertions by getting behind him and
twisting his tail; nothing would do. There was clearly no hope for him.
After every effort his heaving sides were more deeply imbedded and the
mire almost overflowed his nostrils; he lay still at length, and looking
round at us with a furious eye, seemed to resign himself to his fate.
Ellis slowly dismounted, and deliberately leveling his boasted yager,
shot the old bull through the heart; then he lazily climbed back again
to his seat, pluming himself no doubt on having actually killed a
buffalo. That day the invincible yager drew blood for the first and last
time during the whole journey.
The morning was a bright and gay one, and the air so clear that on the
farthest horizon the outline of the pale blue prairie was sharply drawn
against the sky. Shaw felt in the mood for hunting; he rode in advance
of the party, and before long we saw a file of bulls galloping at full
speed upon a vast green swell of the prairie at some distance in front.
Shaw came scouring along behind them, arrayed in his red shirt, which
looked very well in the distance; he gained fast on the fugitives, and
as the foremost bull was disappearing behind the summit of the swell,
we saw him in the act of assailing the hindmost; a smoke sprang from the
muzzle of his gun, and floated away before the wind like a little
white cloud; the bull turned upon him, and just then the rising ground
concealed them both from view.
We were moving forward until about noon, when we stopped by the side of
the Arkansas. At that moment Shaw appeared riding slowly down the side
of a distant hill; his horse was tired and jaded, and when he threw
his saddle upon the ground, I observed that the tails of two bulls were
dangling behind it. No sooner were the horses turned loose to feed than
Henry, asking Munroe to go with him, took his rifle and walked quietly
away. Shaw, Tete Rouge, and I sat down by the side of the cart to
discuss the dinner which Delorier placed before us; we had scarcely
finished when we saw Munroe walking toward us along the river bank.
Henry, he said, had killed four fat cows, and had sent him back for
horses to bring in the meat. Shaw took a horse for himself and another
for Henry, and he and Munroe left the camp together. After a short
absence all three of them came back, their horses loaded with the
choicest parts of the meat; we kept two of the cows for ourselves and
gave the others to Munroe and his companions. Delorier seated himself
on the grass before the pile of meat, and worked industriously for
some time to cut it into thin broad sheets for drying. This is no easy
matter, but Delorier had all the skill of an Indian squaw. Long before
night cords of raw hide were stretched around the camp, and the meat was
hung upon them to dry in the sunshine and pure air of the prairie.
Our California companions were less successful at the work; but they
accomplished it after their own fashion, and their side of the camp was
soon garnished in the same manner as our own.
We meant to remain at this place long enough to prepare provisions for
our journey to the frontier, which as we supposed might occupy about a
month. Had the distance been twice as great and the party ten times as
large, the unerring rifle of Henry Chatillon would have supplied
meat enough for the whole within two days; we were obliged to remain,
however, until it should be dry enough for transportation; so we erected
our tent and made the other arrangements for a permanent camp. The
California men, who had no such shelter, contented themselves with
arranging their packs on the grass around their fire. In the meantime we
had nothing to do but amuse ourselves. Our tent was within a rod of the
river, if the broad sand-beds, with a scanty stream of water coursing
here and there along their surface, deserve to be dignified with the
name of river. The vast flat plains on either side were almost on a
level with the sand-beds, and they were bounded in the distance by low,
monotonous hills, parallel to the course of the Arkansas. All was one
expanse of grass; there was no wood in view, except some trees and
stunted bushes upon two islands which rose from amid the wet sands of
the river. Yet far from being dull and tame this boundless scene was
often a wild and animated one; for twice a day, at sunrise and at noon,
the buffalo came issuing from the hills, slowly advancing in their grave
processions to drink at the river. All our amusements were too at their
expense. Except an elephant, I have seen no animal that can surpass a
buffalo bull in size and strength, and the world may be searched in vain
to find anything of a more ugly and ferocious aspect. At first sight of
him every feeling of sympathy vanishes; no man who has not experienced
it can understand with what keen relish one inflicts his death wound,
with what profound contentment of mind he beholds him fall. The cows are
much smaller and of a gentler appearance, as becomes their sex. While
in this camp we forebore to attack them, leaving to Henry Chatillon, who
could better judge their fatness and good quality, the task of killing
such as we wanted for use; but against the bulls we waged an unrelenting
war. Thousands of them might be slaughtered without causing any
detriment to the species, for their numbers greatly exceed those of the
cows; it is the hides of the latter alone which are used for purpose of
commerce and for making the lodges of the Indians; and the destruction
among them is therefore altogether disproportioned.
Our horses were tired, and we now usually hunted on foot. The wide, flat
sand-beds of the Arkansas, as the reader will remember, lay close by
the side of our camp. While we were lying on the grass after dinner,
smoking, conversing, or laughing at Tete Rouge, one of us would look
up and observe, far out on the plains beyond the river, certain black
objects slowly approaching. He would inhale a parting whiff from the
pipe, then rising lazily, take his rifle, which leaned against the cart,
throw over his shoulder the strap of his pouch and powder-horn, and
with his moccasins in his hand walk quietly across the sand toward the
opposite side of the river. This was very easy; for though the sands
were about a quarter of a mile wide, the water was nowhere more than two
feet deep. The farther bank was about four or five feet high, and quite
perpendicular, being cut away by the water in spring. Tall grass grew
along its edge. Putting it aside with his hand, and cautiously looking
through it, the hunter can discern the huge shaggy back of the buffalo
slowly swaying to and fro, as with his clumsy swinging gait he advances
toward the water. The buffalo have regular paths by which they come down
to drink. Seeing at a glance along which of these his intended victim
is moving, the hunter crouches under the bank within fifteen or twenty
yards, it may be, of the point where the path enters the river. Here he
sits down quietly on the sand. Listening intently, he hears the heavy
monotonous tread of the approaching bull. The moment after he sees a
motion among the long weeds and grass just at the spot where the path
is channeled through the bank. An enormous black head is thrust out,
the horns just visible amid the mass of tangled mane. Half sliding, half
plunging, down comes the buffalo upon the river-bed below. He steps
out in full sight upon the sands. Just before him a runnel of water is
gliding, and he bends his head to drink. You may hear the water as it
gurgles down his capacious throat. He raises his head, and the drops
trickle from his wet beard. He stands with an air of stupid abstraction,
unconscious of the lurking danger. Noiselessly the hunter cocks his
rifle. As he sits upon the sand, his knee is raised, and his elbow rests
upon it, that he may level his heavy weapon with a steadier aim. The
stock is at his shoulder; his eye ranges along the barrel. Still he is
in no haste to fire. The bull, with slow deliberation, begins his march
over the sands to the other side. He advances his foreleg, and exposes
to view a small spot, denuded of hair, just behind the point of his
shoulder; upon this the hunter brings the sight of his rifle to bear;
lightly and delicately his finger presses upon the hair-trigger. Quick
as thought the spiteful crack of the rifle responds to his slight touch,
and instantly in the middle of the bare spot appears a small red dot.
The buffalo shivers; death has overtaken him, he cannot tell from
whence; still he does not fall, but walks heavily forward, as if nothing
had happened. Yet before he has advanced far out upon the sand, you
see him stop; he totters; his knees bend under him, and his head sinks
forward to the ground. Then his whole vast bulk sways to one side; he
rolls over on the sand, and dies with a scarcely perceptible struggle.
Waylaying the buffalo in this manner, and shooting them as they come to
water, is the easiest and laziest method of hunting them. They may also
be approached by crawling up ravines, or behind hills, or even over the
open prairie. This is often surprisingly easy; but at other times
it requires the utmost skill of the most experienced hunter. Henry
Chatillon was a man of extraordinary strength and hardihood; but I have
seen him return to camp quite exhausted with his efforts, his limbs
scratched and wounded, and his buckskin dress stuck full of the thorns
of the prickly-pear among which he had been crawling. Sometimes he would
lay flat upon his face, and drag himself along in this position for many
rods together.
On the second day of our stay at this place, Henry went out for an
afternoon hunt. Shaw and I remained in camp until, observing some bulls
approaching the water upon the other side of the river, we crossed over
to attack them. They were so near, however, that before we could get
under cover of the bank our appearance as we walked over the sands
alarmed them. Turning round before coming within gunshot, they began to
move off to the right in a direction parallel to the river. I climbed
up the bank and ran after them. They were walking swiftly, and before I
could come within gunshot distance they slowly wheeled about and faced
toward me. Before they had turned far enough to see me I had fallen flat
on my face. For a moment they stood and stared at the strange object
upon the grass; then turning away, again they walked on as before; and
I, rising immediately, ran once more in pursuit. Again they wheeled
about, and again I fell prostrate. Repeating this three or four times,
I came at length within a hundred yards of the fugitives, and as I
saw them turning again I sat down and leveled my rifle. The one in the
center was the largest I had ever seen. I shot him behind the shoulder.
His two companions ran off. He attempted to follow, but soon came to
a stand, and at length lay down as quietly as an ox chewing the cud.
Cautiously approaching him, I saw by his dull and jellylike eye that he
was dead.
When I began the chase, the prairie was almost tenantless; but a great
multitude of buffalo had suddenly thronged upon it, and looking up, I
saw within fifty rods a heavy, dark column stretching to the right and
left as far as I could see. I walked toward them. My approach did not
alarm them in the least. The column itself consisted entirely of cows
and calves, but a great many old bulls were ranging about the prairie
on its flank, and as I drew near they faced toward me with such a shaggy
and ferocious look that I thought it best to proceed no farther. Indeed
I was already within close rifle-shot of the column, and I sat down on
the ground to watch their movements. Sometimes the whole would stand
still, their heads all facing one way; then they would trot forward,
as if by a common impulse, their hoofs and horns clattering together
as they moved. I soon began to hear at a distance on the left the sharp
reports of a rifle, again and again repeated; and not long after, dull
and heavy sounds succeeded, which I recognized as the familiar voice
of Shaw’s double-barreled gun. When Henry’s rifle was at work there was
always meat to be brought in. I went back across the river for a horse,
and returning, reached the spot where the hunters were standing. The
buffalo were visible on the distant prairie. The living had retreated
from the ground, but ten or twelve carcasses were scattered in various
directions. Henry, knife in hand, was stooping over a dead cow, cutting
away the best and fattest of the meat.
When Shaw left me he had walked down for some distance under the river
bank to find another bull. At length he saw the plains covered with
the host of buffalo, and soon after heard the crack of Henry’s rifle.
Ascending the bank, he crawled through the grass, which for a rod or two
from the river was very high and rank. He had not crawled far before to
his astonishment he saw Henry standing erect upon the prairie, almost
surrounded by the buffalo. Henry was in his appropriate element. Nelson,
on the deck of the Victory, hardly felt a prouder sense of mastery than
he. Quite unconscious that any one was looking at him, he stood at the
full height of his tall, strong figure, one hand resting upon his side,
and the other arm leaning carelessly on the muzzle of his rifle. His
eyes were ranging over the singular assemblage around him. Now and then
he would select such a cow as suited him, level his rifle, and shoot her
dead; then quietly reloading, he would resume his former position. The
buffalo seemed no more to regard his presence than if he were one of
themselves; the bulls were bellowing and butting at each other, or else
rolling about in the dust. A group of buffalo would gather about the
carcass of a dead cow, snuffing at her wounds; and sometimes they would
come behind those that had not yet fallen, and endeavor to push them
from 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
buffalo; Tete Rouge of theaters and oyster cellars. Henry had led a life
of hardship and privation; Tete Rouge never had a whim which he would
not gratify at the first moment he was able. Henry moreover was the
most disinterested man I ever saw; while Tete Rouge, though equally
good-natured in his way, cared for nobody but himself. Yet we would
not have lost him on any account; he admirably served the purpose of
a jester in a feudal castle; our camp would have been lifeless without
him. For the past week he had fattened in a most amazing manner; and
indeed this was not at all surprising, since his appetite was most
inordinate. He was eating from morning till night; half the time he
would be at work cooking some private repast for himself, and he paid
a visit to the coffee-pot eight or ten times a day. His rueful and
disconsolate face became jovial and rubicund, his eyes stood out like
a lobster’s, and his spirits, which before were sunk to the depths of
despondency, were now elated in proportion; all day he was singing,
whistling, laughing, and telling stories. Being mortally afraid of Jim
Gurney, he kept close in the neighborhood of our tent. As he had seen an
abundance of low dissipated life, and had a considerable fund of
humor, his anecdotes were extremely amusing, especially since he never
hesitated to place himself in a ludicrous point of view, provided he
could raise a laugh by doing so. Tete Rouge, however, was sometimes
rather troublesome; he had an inveterate habit of pilfering provisions
at all times of the day. He set ridicule at utter defiance; and being
without a particle of self-respect, he would never have given over his
tricks, even if they had drawn upon him the scorn of the whole party.
Now and then, indeed, something worse than laughter fell to his share;
on these occasions he would exhibit much contrition, but half an hour
after we would generally observe him stealing round to the box at the
back of the cart and slyly making off with the provisions which Delorier
had laid by for supper. He was very fond of smoking; but having no
tobacco of his own, we used to provide him with as much as he wanted, a
small piece at a time. At first we gave him half a pound together, but
this experiment proved an entire failure, for he invariably lost not
only the tobacco, but the knife intrusted to him for cutting it, and a
few minutes after he would come to us with many apologies and beg for
more.
We had been two days at this camp, and some of the meat was nearly fit
for transportation, when a storm came suddenly upon us. About sunset the
whole sky grew as black as ink, and the long grass at the river’s
edge bent and rose mournfully with the first gusts of the approaching
hurricane. Munroe and his two companions brought their guns and placed
them under cover of our tent. Having no shelter for themselves, they
built a fire of driftwood that might have defied a cataract, and wrapped
in their buffalo robes, sat on the ground around it to bide the fury of
the storm. Delorier ensconced himself under the cover of the cart. Shaw
and I, together with Henry and Tete Rouge, crowded into the little tent;
but first of all the dried meat was piled together, and well protected
by buffalo robes pinned firmly to the ground. About nine o’clock the
storm broke, amid absolute darkness; it blew a gale, and torrents of
rain roared over the boundless expanse of open prairie. Our tent was
filled with mist and spray beating through the canvas, and saturating
everything within. We could only distinguish each other at short
intervals by the dazzling flash of lightning, which displayed the whole
waste around us with its momentary glare. We had our fears for the tent;
but for an hour or two it stood fast, until at length the cap gave way
before a furious blast; the pole tore through the top, and in an instant
we were half suffocated by the cold and dripping folds of the canvas,
which fell down upon us. Seizing upon our guns, we placed them erect, in
order to lift the saturated cloth above our heads. In this disagreeable
situation, involved among wet blankets and buffalo robes, we spent
several hours of the night during which the storm would not abate for a
moment, but pelted down above our heads with merciless fury. Before
long the ground beneath us became soaked with moisture, and the water
gathered there in a pool two or three inches deep; so that for a
considerable part of the night we were partially immersed in a cold
bath. In spite of all this, Tete Rouge’s flow of spirits did not desert
him for an instant, he laughed, whistled, and sung in defiance of the
storm, and that night he paid off the long arrears of ridicule which
he owed us. While we lay in silence, enduring the infliction with what
philosophy we could muster, Tete Rouge, who was intoxicated with animal
spirits, was cracking jokes at our expense by the hour together. At
about three o’clock in the morning, “preferring the tyranny of the
open night” to such a wretched shelter, we crawled out from beneath the
fallen canvas. The wind had abated, but the rain fell steadily. The fire
of the California men still blazed amid the darkness, and we joined
them as they sat around it. We made ready some hot coffee by way of
refreshment; but when some of the party sought to replenish their cups,
it was found that Tete Rouge, having disposed of his own share, had
privately abstracted the coffee-pot and drank up the rest of the
contents out of the spout.
In the morning, to our great joy, an unclouded sun rose upon the
prairie. We presented rather a laughable appearance, for the cold and
clammy buckskin, saturated with water, clung fast to our limbs; the
light wind and warm sunshine soon dried them again, and then we were
all incased in armor of intolerable rigidity. Roaming all day over the
prairie and shooting two or three bulls, were scarcely enough to restore
the stiffened leather to its usual pliancy.
Besides Henry Chatillon, Shaw and I were the only hunters in the party.
Munroe this morning made an attempt to run a buffalo, but his horse
could not come up to the game. Shaw went out with him, and being better
mounted soon found himself in the midst of the herd. Seeing nothing
but cows and calves around him, he checked his horse. An old bull came
galloping on the open prairie at some distance behind, and turning, Shaw
rode across his path, leveling his gun as he passed, and shooting
him through the shoulder into the heart. The heavy bullets of Shaw’s
double-barreled gun made wild work wherever they struck.
A great flock of buzzards were usually soaring about a few trees
that stood on the island just below our camp. Throughout the whole of
yesterday we had noticed an eagle among them; to-day he was still
there; and Tete Rouge, declaring that he would kill the bird of America,
borrowed Delorier’s gun and set out on his unpatriotic mission. As might
have been expected, the eagle suffered no great harm at his hands. He
soon returned, saying that he could not find him, but had shot a buzzard
instead. Being required to produce the bird in proof of his assertion
he said he believed he was not quite dead, but he must be hurt, from the
swiftness with which he flew off.
“If you want,” said Tete Rouge, “I’ll go and get one of his feathers; I
knocked off plenty of them when I shot him.”
Just opposite our camp was another island covered with bushes, and
behind it was a deep pool of water, while two or three considerable
streams course’d over the sand not far off. I was bathing at this place
in the afternoon when a white wolf, larger than the largest Newfoundland
dog, ran out from behind the point of the island, and galloped leisurely
over the sand not half a stone’s throw distant. I could plainly see his
red eyes and the bristles about his snout; he was an ugly scoundrel,
with a bushy tail, large head, and a most repulsive countenance. Having
neither rifle to shoot nor stone to pelt him with, I was looking eagerly
after some missile for his benefit, when the report of a gun came from
the camp, and the ball threw up the sand just beyond him; at this he
gave a slight jump, and stretched away so swiftly that he soon dwindled
into a mere speck on the distant sand-beds. The number of carcasses that
by this time were lying about the prairie all around us summoned the
wolves from every quarter; the spot where Shaw and Henry had hunted
together soon became their favorite resort, for here about a dozen dead
buffalo were fermenting under the hot sun. I used often to go over the
river and watch them at their meal; by lying under the bank it was easy
to get a full view of them. Three different kinds were present; there
were the white wolves and the gray wolves, both extremely large, and
besides these the small prairie wolves, not much bigger than spaniels.
They would howl and fight in a crowd around a single carcass, yet they
were so watchful, and their senses so acute, that I never was able to
crawl within a fair shooting distance; whenever I attempted it, they
would all scatter at once and glide silently away through the tall
grass. The air above this spot was always full of buzzards or black
vultures; whenever the wolves left a carcass they would descend upon
it, and cover it so densely that a rifle-bullet shot at random among
the gormandizing crowd would generally strike down two or three of them.
These birds would now be sailing by scores just about our camp, their
broad black wings seeming half transparent as they expanded them against
the bright sky. The wolves and the buzzards thickened about us with
every hour, and two or three eagles also came into the feast. I killed a
bull within rifle-shot of the camp; that night the wolves made a fearful
howling close at hand, and in the morning the carcass was completely
hollowed out by these voracious feeders.
After we had remained four days at this camp we prepared to leave it.
We had for our own part about five hundred pounds of dried meat, and the
California men had prepared some three hundred more; this consisted
of the fattest and choicest parts of eight or nine cows, a very small
quantity only being taken from each, and the rest abandoned to the
wolves. The pack animals were laden, the horses were saddled, and the
mules harnessed to the cart. Even Tete Rouge was ready at last, and
slowly moving from the ground, we resumed our journey eastward. When
we had advanced about a mile, Shaw missed a valuable hunting knife and
turned back in search of it, thinking that he had left it at the camp.
He approached the place cautiously, fearful that Indians might be
lurking about, for a deserted camp is dangerous to return to. He saw
no enemy, but the scene was a wild and dreary one; the prairie was
overshadowed by dull, leaden clouds, for the day was dark and gloomy.
The ashes of the fires were still smoking by the river side; the grass
around them was trampled down by men and horses, and strewn with all the
litter of a camp. Our departure had been a gathering signal to the birds
and beasts of prey; Shaw assured me that literally dozens of wolves were
prowling about the smoldering fires, while multitudes were roaming over
the prairie around; they all fled as he approached, some running over
the sand-beds and some over the grassy plains. The vultures in great
clouds were soaring overhead, and the dead bull near the camp was
completely blackened by the flock that had alighted upon it; they
flapped their broad wings, and stretched upward their crested heads
and long skinny necks, fearing to remain, yet reluctant to leave their
disgusting feast. As he searched about the fires he saw the wolves
seated on the distant hills waiting for his departure. Having looked
in vain for his knife, he mounted again, and left the wolves and the
vultures to banquet freely upon the carrion of the camp.