I was busy skinning when my old friend Auberry rode up.
"That's the first time I ever saw a bull die on his back," said he.
"He did not die on his back," I replied.

"I turned him over." "You did--and alone?
It's rarely a single man could do that, nor have I seen it done in all my life with so big a bull." I laughed at him.

"It was easy.

My father and I once lifted a loaded wagon out of the mud." "The Indians," said Auberry, "don't bother to turn a bull over.

They split the hide down the back, and skin both ways.