[1] I may further remark, that the buffalo slain by us when lost upon the prairie, was shot in the side as he wheeled, to run from us, without our suspecting it was the only place in which we could have given him a mortal wound. The trapper’s buffalo was thrown forward upon his face, his legs bent beneath him, and dressed after the usual fashion. He was in good condition, and we had a rich feast upon his carcass. The trapper selected a few choice portions from the inside, relished only by himself, and cutting several huge pieces for future use, the rest was left for the beasts of prey. We proceeded but a few miles further, and encamped upon the banks of the Dry Fork. This is a small stream, a few miles south of the Black Hills. There was but a foot or two of sluggish water, and in the hot season it was often perfectly dry. Here for the first time I was made aware of the changeable character of the climate in this latitude. The weather, thus far, had been remarkably clear and fine, and at noon we found the weather sometimes oppressively warm. Toward night the wind veered around to the northwest, and grew colder. At nightfall, when we kindled our fire, the air was so chilly and cutting that Nat and I were in a shiver. Had it not been for our blankets we should have suffered considerably, though Biddon did not call his into requisition. There were a number of cottonwood trees near at hand, which served partly to screen us from the blast. After our evening meal had been cooked, Biddon remarked: “The fire must go out, boys.” “Why? Do you apprehend danger?” I asked. “Don’t know as I do; I hain’t seed signs, but we’re gittin’ into parts whar we’ve got to be summat skeerish.” “I suppose it’s about time for the Indians to come?” remarked Nat interrogatively, with a look of fear toward the trapper. “They’re ’bout these parts. Me’n Jack Javin once got into a scrimmage yer with ’em, when we didn’t ’spect it, and jist ’cause we let our fire burn while we snoozed. I’d seen sign though then, and wanted to put it out, but he wan’t afeared.” “Let’s have ours out then,” exclaimed Nat excitedly, springing up and scattering the brands around. “Needn’t mind ’bout that; it’ll go out soon enough.” As Nat reseated himself, Biddon continued: “You see, Jarsey, them reds kin smell a white man’s fire a good way off, and on sich a night as this, ef they’re ’bout they’ll be bound to give him a call. You needn’t be afeared, howsumever, to snooze, ’cause they won’t be ’bout.”