existence of the Indian tribes of the prairies depends on their
success in hunting the buffalo.

There are hundreds and thousands of North American savages who would
undoubtedly perish, and their tribes become extinct, if the buffaloes
were to leave the prairies or die out. Yet, although animals are
absolutely essential to their existence, they pursue and slay them
with improvident recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them
merely for the sake of the sport, the tongues, and the marrow bones.
In the bloody hunt described in the last chapter, however, the
slaughter of so many was not wanton, because the village that had to
be supplied with food was large, and, just previous to the hunt, they
had been living on somewhat reduced allowance. Even the blackbirds
shot by the brown-bodied urchins before mentioned had been thankfully
put into the pot. Thus precarious is the supply of food among the
Red-men, who on one day are starving, and the next are revelling in
superabundance.

But to return to our story. At one end of this village the creek
sprang over a ledge of rock in a low cascade and opened out into a
beautiful lake, the bosom of which was studded with small islands.
Here were thousands of those smaller species of wild water-fowl which
were either too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the noise
of the camp. And here, too, dozens of children were sporting on the
beach, or paddling about in their light bark canoes.

"Isn't it strange," remarked Dick to Henri, as they passed among the
tents towards the centre of the village--"isn't it strange that them
Injuns should be so fond o' fightin', when they've got all they can
want--a fine country, lots o' buffalo, an', as far as I can see, happy