He war well-nigh done up, poor young fellur; an' no wonder.
Whar is he now?
He must be down by the side o' the bush--down an' dead.
Ef he war alive, he'd be lookin' out for me.

He's gone under; an' this deer-meat, this water, purcured to no purpiss.

I mout as well fling both away; they'll reach him too late." Once more resuming his forward stride, he advanced towards the dark mass above which the vultures are soaring.

His shadow, still by a long distance preceding him, has frightened the birds higher up into the air, but they show no signs of going altogether away.

On the contrary, they keep circling around, as if they had already commenced a repast, and, driven off, intend returning to it.
On what have they been banqueting?
On the body of his comrade?
What else can be there?
Thus questioning himself, the ex-Ranger advances, his heart still aching with apprehension.