“Can you go?” she said.

“No,” said I, “I cannot; but I must and I shall.”  I put away her arm from me, but in turn she caught up the rifle.  Even for this I was still too proud.  “No,” said I, “I have always carried my own weapons thus far.”

“Come, then,” she said, “this way”; and so caught the muzzle of the heavy barrel and walked on, leaving me the stock to support for my share of the weight.  Thus we carried the great rifle between us, and so stumbled on, until at length the sun grew too warm for me, and I dropped, overcome with fatigue.  Patiently she waited for me, and so we two, partners, mates, a man and a woman, primitive, the first, went on little by little.

I knew that the bull would in all likelihood stop near the rivulet, for his progress seemed to indicate that he was very old or else wounded.  Finally I could see his huge black hump standing less than a quarter of a mile away from the ridge where I last paused.  I motioned to her, and she crept to my side, like some desert creature.  We were hunting animals now, the two sexes of Man—­nothing more.

“Go,” said I, motioning toward the rifle.  “I am too weak.  I might miss.  I can get no farther.”

She caught up the rifle barrel at its balancing point, looked to the lock as a man might have done, and leaned forward, eager as any man for the chase.  There was no fear in her eye.

“Where shall I shoot it?” she whispered to me, as though it might overhear her.

“At the life, at the bare spot where his shoulder rubs, very low down,” I said to her.  “And when you shoot, drop and He still.  He will soon lie down.”

Lithe, brown, sinuous, she crept rapidly away, and presently was hid where the grass grew taller in the flat beyond.  The bull moved forward a little also, and I lost sight of both for what seemed to me an unconscionable time.  She told me later that she crept close to the water hole and waited there for the bull to come, but that he stood back and stared ahead stupidly and would not move.  She said she trembled when at last he approached, so savage was his look.  Even a man might be smitten with terror at the fierce aspect of one of these animals.

But at last I heard the bitter crack of the rifle and, raising my head, I saw her spring up and then drop down again.  Then, staggering a short way up the opposite slope, I saw the slow bulk of the great black bull.  He turned and looked back, his head low, his eyes straight ahead.  Then slowly he kneeled down, and so died, with his forefeet doubled under him.

She came running back to me, full of savage joy at her Success, and put her arm under my shoulder and told me to come.  Slowly, fast as I could, I went with her to our prey.

We butchered our buffalo as Auberry had showed me, from the backbone down, as he sat dead on his forearms, splitting the skin along the spine, and laying it out for the meat to rest upon.  Again I made a fire by shooting a tow wad into such tinder as we could arrange from my coat lining, having dried this almost into flame by a burning-glass I made out of a watch crystal filled with water, not in the least a weak sort of lens.  She ran for fuel, and for water, and now we cooked and ate, the fresh meat seeming excellent to me.  Once more now we moved our camp, the girl returning for the horse and our scanty belongings.