The naturalists bent over to skin the animal. Then, observing something, Mr. Holton uttered a word of surprise.
“Look here,” he pointed out. “There’s part of a native spear in the buffalo’s side.”
The naturalist had made no mistake. From the tough hide of the brute a native spear protruded out several inches. It was rotting with age, having been wielded many weeks before.
The chief fell into conversation with the scientists, telling them that one of his warriors had thrust the weapon into the buffalo some time before, but apparently without result.
“That accounts for his unusually bad temper,” said Mr. Lewis. “He was probably aggravated by the wound caused by the spear and was ready for trouble at the slightest chance.”
The skinning process was completed at last, and the skin was carried back to the village by the natives.
On arriving at the settlement, the Americans were given a royal welcome by those who had not gone on the hunt. The simple blacks danced around the explorers happily, rejoicing that the dangerous buffalo had been killed.
“Mbogo okuri!” seemed to be the prevalent words spoken by the blacks.
“What are they saying?” inquired Bob.