“Poor critter!” he murmured, pityingly. “He’s dyin’; but he’s still thinkin’ of his wife an’ children. Poor little woman—an’ poor little boys an’ gals—down in ol’ Kaintuck! You’ll never git another husband an’ father, that’s a fact; not one that’ll think as much of you, anyhow. His words has come true. He must ’ave had a prem’nition o’ what was in store fer him. Ding-it-all-to-dangnation! I’m sorry fer him—poor feller! An’ I wish I hadn’t growled so much ’bout his caterwaulin’—I do, by Katherine! But I thought he was jest foolin’—I didn’t know he was pourin’ out his soul in singin’.” Joe broke off suddenly and dashed the tears from his eyes. The dying Kentuckian gave one expiring groan—and passed over the dark river. The woodman stood silently looking down at the lump of senseless clay for several minutes. Then he turned and strode away, muttering: “I don’t like this buryin’ business, nohow. It makes me down in the mouth. It’s worse ’n drivin’ oxen, by a long shot. Poor little boys an’ gals down in ol’ Kaintuck! They ain’t got no pap now—they’ll never be rocked to sleep in his arms no more.” He stopped and shook his head sadly, reflectively. “Where Fleet Foot and Duke?” Farley glanced up and beheld Bright Wing at his side. “Ross an’ the bloodhoun’?” he inquired. “Ugh!” “I don’t know. But where you find one of ’em you’ll find t’other, most likely. I hain’t set eyes on the dog sence last night, but I saw his master this mornin’—jest after the Injins broke an’ run. You’ll find ’em both ’round the camp somewheres.” “Me look—no find,” answered the Wyandot with a positive shake of the head. “Well,” Joe returned dryly, “I wouldn’t lose no sleep ’bout ’em, Injin, if I was you. They’re able to take keer o’ the’rselves.” “Me look much long time—no find dog—no find master,” the Indian persisted. “That so?” Joe replied—a shade of uneasiness in his tone. “Well, you’ve got nothin’ else to do—so go _on_ huntin’. When I git through with this bloody business o’ helpin’ to take keer o’ the dead an’ wounded, I’ll take a look ’round with you. By the way, I’m gittin’ most pow’rful hungry. But a feller told me a little bit ago the beef an’ meal was all gone, an’ some of us ’ld have to eat hoss flesh fer our breakfast. Fer my part, I ain’t a _hankerin’_. I can go purty nigh anything, but I draw the line at hoss-steaks. It’s a sight worse ’n havin’ a lot o’ women in love with you. W’y, Injin, one time so many female genders got in love with me, I——” The voluble fellow stopped speaking and looked around. The Wyandot had disappeared. “By my gran’mother’s ear-trumpet!” muttered Joe. “That redskin comes an’ goes like a shadder. S’pose he didn’t like my talk ’bout women-folks. He must ’ave some ol’ love affair ranklin’ in his gizzard. I’m mighty awful hungry, I swan. Well, if I can’t eat, I can smoke.” And filling and lighting his pipe, he hurried away to procure help in removing the body of the Kentuckian to the place of burial.