“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle wos empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed for’ard 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, an’ then we went to pick up the natterlist. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said wos, ‘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 barrelful 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 I had fired bum-bees an’ beetles an’ small shot into the buffalo!
“But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye yit. We comed to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the natterlist 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 an’ killed it. The natterlist wos 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.
“We stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.
“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin; ‘we’ll take the meat into camp an’ cook it without sayin’ a word.
“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it; for ye must know the poor critter 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, an’ carried the flesh an’ marrow-bones into camp, takin’ care to leave the hoofs an’ skin behind, an’ sot to work an’ roasted steaks an’ marrow-bones.
“When the natter-list came back ye should ha’ seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he wos all but starved out, poor critter.
“‘What have we got here?’ cried he, rubbin’ his hands an’ sittin’ down.
“‘Steaks an’ marrow-bones,’ says Martin.
“‘Capital!’ says he. ‘I’m so hungry.’
“So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like that natterlist did into that horse-flesh.
