The poor
buffalo was nearly spent, and it was clear that a few hours more would
see him torn to shreds and his bones picked clean.
"Ugh! de brutes," ejaculated Henri.
"They don't seem to mind us a bit," remarked Dick, as they rode up to
within pistol shot.
"It'll be merciful to give the old fellow a shot," said Joe. "Them
varmints are sure to finish him at last."
Joe raised his rifle as he spoke, and fired. The old bull gave his
last groan and fell, while the wolves, alarmed by the shot, fled in
all directions; but they did not run far. They knew well that some
portion, at least, of the carcass would fall to their share; so they
sat down at various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they
might for the hunters to retire. Dick left the scene with a feeling
of regret that the villanous wolves should have their feast so much
sooner than they expected.
Yet, after all, why should we call these wolves villanous? They did
nothing wrong--nothing contrary to the laws of their peculiar nature.
Nay, if we come to reason upon it, they rank higher in this matter
than man; for while the wolf does no violence to the laws of its
instincts, man often deliberately silences the voice of conscience,
and violates the laws of his own nature.
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