Finally one day he declined to go out with me, saying that he had a pain.

When, that afternoon, I got back to camp, I speedily found what the "pain" was.

We were traveling very light indeed, I having practically nothing but my buffalo sleeping-bag, my wash kit, and a pair of socks.

I had also taken a flask of whisky for emergencies--although, as I found that the emergencies never arose and that tea was better than whisky when a man was cold or done out, I abandoned the practice of taking whisky on hunting trips twenty years ago.

When I got back to camp the old fellow was sitting on a tree-trunk, very erect, with his rifle across his knees, and in response to my nod of greeting he merely leered at me.