last arrow, he turned toward my friend and made a quick rush; the snow was
less deep; he went faster; my little friend slipped, and the bull caught
him with his horns and threw him far. My friend fell close to me, and where
he fell the snow was red with his blood, for the great horn had caught him
just above the waist, and had ripped his body open nearly to the throat.

I went up to him in a moment, and, catching him, pulled him over the smooth
crust, far from the bull; but when I stopped and looked at him, he was
still, his eyes were dull, and he did not breathe; he was dead.

I did not know what to do. I had lost my friend, and I cried hard. Also, I
wished to be revenged on the bull for what he had done; but I did not wish
to be killed. I covered my friend with my robe, and started running fast to
the camp, where I told my mother what had happened. Soon all the men in the
camp, and some of the women, had started with me, back to where the bull
was. My friend's relations were wailing and mourning, as they came along,
and soon we reached his body, and his relations carried him back to the
camp. Two of the men went to where the bull stood in the snow and killed
him; and after he was dead I struck him with my bow.




_Standing Alone._


Always as winter drew near, the camps came closer together, and the people
began to make ready to start off on the hunt for buffalo. By this time food
was scarce, and the people needed new robes; and now that the cold weather
was at hand, the hair of the buffalo was long and shaggy, so that the robes