This same fellow was a very good shot, and an expert at selecting fat animals--in which, after all, lies the real skill of a buffalo hunter. Many a man could kill on the dead jump, and by constant practice learn to load a gun quickly, but to pick good fat meat while dust and powder and perspiration were each doing what they could to blind your eyes, and while madly galloping over rough country with numberless badger-holes, dust-pans, cut-banks, etc., seemingly seeking to break either the horse's or the rider's neck or limbs, required practice, and quickness of vision, and ready judgment. This man had these qualities, and several times I put him on one of my buffalo runners. Thus we got acquainted, and presently he began to come to our meetings, where he was a thoughtful listener. Once he told me of a strange experience he had. Said he, "Several of us started in the depth of winter from the extreme point of timber on the Touchwood Hills to hunt for buffalo. Our camp was very short of meat. We carried wood on flat sleds, and when we killed the first buffalo I went back to camp with two sled loads for those at home. All day I travelled on the bare plain, hoping to reach timber that night; but my loads were heavy and my horses tired, and in the afternoon a storm came on, and I saw that I could not make the main woods that night. Then I bethought me of a small island of timber to one side of my course which would afford me shelter. But then I also knew, a couple of moons before this, a noted Indian had died at that point, and his tent was left standing for him to rest in; that his best horse had been led to the door and shot, and the line fastened round his neck passed to the dead man. Thinking of this I felt a strong reluctance to go near the place, but the storm was raging and my horses were tired, and at last I made up my mind to go and seek shelter with the dead man. "When I reached the spot there was the lodge, and I drew up my horses close to the door; but before I unhitched them I first addressed the occupant of the tent. I told him it was not in the spirit of curiosity or bravado or irreverence that I thus came near his resting-place, but that I was a poor lonely brother seeking shelter for the night; that if he would accord me hospitality I would be very careful and thankful. I then proceeded to unhitch my horses. I noticed that there was a fine pile of dry wood near the tent, and knew there would be more within, for such is the custom. After fixing my horses for the night I went to the door of the lodge and again apologized to my dead friend. Then I removed the fastening of the door and stood, fearing to enter.