up a subscription and purchased a poor woman
prisoner, whom the Indians were about
to put to death with great solemnity, and
set her free at night. She finally escaped:
running all night, guiding her course by the
stars, and concealed all day; so that in
two days and nights she reached her
husband and children, "half starved but
very happy."

In spite of savage Indians, who
sometimes shot at him by mistake, and nights in
the prairie—where he woke in the morning
and found himself lying in a pool of water—
on he went, now starving, now feasting on
the spoils of his gun, until, as the winter
set in, he reached Fort Union. There the inhabitants
of the fort were one after another
laid up with the mumps; until, at length,
the supply of fresh meat depended entirely
on the traveller. One day he set out covered
with a white blanket, and "stalked" a herd
of buffalo in the snow so successfully,
that he crept about undetected for an hour
and laid five of the fattest low; "then
the herd bolted in a body, tossing their
shaggy heads and ploughing up the snow."
He cut out the tongues of those he had killed;
and, leaving a blanket on one animal, a cap
on another, a pocket-handkerchief floating
from the head of a third, to scare the wolves,
"set off full speed for the fort; for it was
pudding day, and worth while to make
haste." He entered just as the clock struck
twelve, and feasted on buffalo and venison of
his own providing, "dressed in delicious
bear's grease and buffalo marrow, by a
capital cook."

Listen to that, ye Norfolk pheasant-
slaughterers, and hide your humbled heads!
Practice makes perfect. After a time Mr.
Palliser flayed, cut up, and disposed of his
game as neatly as any Indian hunter, and
congratulates himself on driving a good trade
as a dead shot, by earning white wolfskins
worth two-and-a-half dollars each. But he
was not destined to slay buffaloes scathless.
After firing four times at an old buffalo, our
hunter walked up and lodged a final shot,
when the old brute charged, pursued and
overtook him. "I swerved suddenly on one
side to escape the shock, but to my horror, I
failed in dodging him; he bolted round
quicker than I did, affording me barely time
to protect my stomach with the stock of my
rifle, and to turn sideways in hopes of getting
between his horns, when he came plump
upon me with a shock like an earthquake;
one horn shivered my rifle-stock, the other
tore my clothes. I flew in mid air, scattering
the prairie hens that hung from my belt in
all directions, and fell unhurt in the snow,
while my dying victim subsided not quite
over me in a snowdrift."

Some time after this adventure, Mr.
Palliser purchased from an Indian woman a
magnificent dog, whose portrait forms the
frontispiece of his volume—"Ismah." When
purchased, it took time and trouble to reconcile
the animal to its white owner; but eventually
Ismah became a faithful efficient servant,
drawing a small sledge called a "travail,"
during the day, and sleeping on his master's
bosom saving him from being frozen to death
at night. With Ismah as sole companion, he
set out on a solitary winter's journey along
the shores of the Upper Missouri.

Ismah dragged all the spare clothing, dry
food, and the flesh of the deer last shot, as
they travelled along the ice. "When I stood
and looked about to choose a convenient spot
to camp, Ismah used to gaze into my face,
and whine, as much as to say, 'I am tired
too.' When I trampled down the snow, cut
and strewed the willows, and proceeded to
collect wood, he used to watch me eagerly,
and prick up his ears when he saw me take
the flint and steel from my pouch, and the
dry inner bark of the cotton-wood free from
my chest, in order to kindle a spark. The fire
secure, I turned my attention to him, unpacked
his travail, and placed it aloft against
the side of a tree to protect the leather straps
from the voracity of wolves. This done, I
spread my bed and filled my kettle, took a
handful of coffee berries from my bag, washed
them in the cover of the kettle, then, pounding
them, put them in the smaller kettle, and
the meat in the larger to boil. These operations
Ismah used to regard with intense interest.
When supper was over—and his share
was often very scanty—he sat up close beside
me as I smoked my pipe and sipped my
coffee. When at last I got into bed, he used
to lie down with his back close against my
shoulders, and so we slept until morning.
As soon as it was daylight we rose; Ismah
submitted patiently to be harnessed, and we
resumed our march.

"Ismah's relationship to the Lupus [he was
of the wolf-dog breed] family was often
inconvenient to me, as he used to run off, and
play with the young Luperkins. One day,
after a long march, while looking out for a
camping place, a she wolf crossed the ice, and,
in spite of coaxings and threats, Ismah set off
to join her. I shouted to the wolf, the wolf
ran off, and away ran Ismah after her, with
his travail behind him loaded with everything
I possessed in the world. I followed, shouting,
until he disappeared, and then followed
the tracks upon the snow, until darkness
obliged me to abandon the pursuit, and I
found myself alone on a vast waste of snow,
stretching around me on every side, a
hundred miles from any human habitation, without
warm covering for the night, with very
little powder in my horn, and only two bullets
in my pouch! I turned back and fortunately
made the way to the river again, by
the light of the moon collected fallen wood,
lighted a fire, and sat down to consider what
to do next if Ismah did not return. The cold
north wind froze the perspiration—which, in
the hot pursuit, had run down my face—and