this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small punctures made by the bear.
The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore-legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes, so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state!
Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast.
“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,” remarked the former.
“No!” cried Joe in surprise; “now that’s oncommon cur’us. I’ve lived on raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns and didn’t dare to make a fire, an’ it’s ra’al good it is. Won’t ye try it now?”
Cameron shook his head.
“No, thankee; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but until then I’ll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is.”
“Well, it is strange how some folk can’t abide anything in the meat way they han’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve actually knowd men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?”
“I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?”
“Chucklin’? if ye mean be that ‘larfin’ in to myself’ it’s because I’m thinkin’ o’ a chap as once comed out to the prairies.”
“Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along.”
“I think,” continued Joe, “he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher—a natter-list I think he call his-self.”
“A naturalist,” suggested Cameron.
“Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod, an’ as blind as a bat—leastways he had weak eyes an wore green spectacles. He had on a grey shootin’ coat and trousers and vest and cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos.
“Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses with our blankets at our backs—we wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the Natter-list one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ pins through all the beetles, and flies, an’ creepin’ things he could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box; but he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he could; so says I, ‘If that’s it, I’ll fill yer box in no time.’
“‘Will ye?’ says he, quite pleased like.
“‘I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as was filled wi’ all sorts o’ crawlin’ things. So I sets to work, and whenever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it and crushed it, and soon filled my breast pocket. I coched a lot o’ butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot pouch, and went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles and looked at them as if he’d seen a rattlesnake.
“‘My good man,’ says he, ‘you’ve crushed them all to pieces!’
“‘They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I, for somehow I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an was wantin’ to try his hand at a new dish!
“He laughed when I said this, an’ told me he wos collectin’ them to take home to be looked at. But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe; “I wos goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this Natter-list did, to load wi’ shot as small as dust a-most, and shoot little birds with. I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent and let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of coorse, cause it was a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin’s back—Martin was my comrade’s name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin.
“One day I noticed that the Natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich queer things that I soon forgot it. ‘May be,’ thought I, jist before it went out o’ my mind,—‘may be he thinks that ’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident,’ for ye must know he’d let it off three times the first day by accident, and well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist stuffed into his breeches’ pocket. Well, soon after, we shot a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an runs up to it. So did I, for I wasn’t sure the beast was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at the Natter-list.
“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed forward an’ drew the pistol out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a ball through its heart, and then we went to pick up the Natter-list. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said was, ‘Where’s my revolver?’ When I gave it to him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ the head, ‘There’s a whole barrel-full lost!’ It turned out that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o’ bum-bees, an’ beetles, an’ small shot into the buffalo!
“But that’s not what I wos goin’ to tell ye yet. We comed to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the Natter-list got so thin that ye could a-most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. ‘I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘than eat it;’ so we didn’t kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse and killed it. The Natter-list was down in the bed o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t see it.
“‘He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin.
“‘That’s true,’ says I.
“‘Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he.
“‘That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I.
“So we stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.
“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin, ‘we’ll cut it up, and take the meat into camp and cook it without sayin’ a word.’
“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it;’ for ye must know the poor creature wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a-most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse and carried the flesh and marrow-bones into camp,