Night was coming on and he was very hungry.

Something must be done.

The last cartridge had been exploded in killing the poor, broken legged Indian pony, and the revolver was no longer of use.

The ox, though feeble, was probably yet stronger than the starving man.
Field feared that he was not able to catch the ox by the horns and hold it until he could cut its throat, so the next plan was to get hold of the animal's tail with one hand, and with the big knife in the other cut his hamstrings so as to disable him, and then cut his throat.

The ox seemed fond of being rubbed and petted, so after a little time a firm hold on the tail was secured, and the big knife vigorously applied, but it was so very dull that he could not sever the tough old tendons.