Joseph heard a little struggle behind him where the calf tried to loosen its legs from the riata loops. Suddenly Joseph thought of the old man on the cliff-top. His eyes shone with excitement. “This might be the way,” he cried. He carried the calf to the stream-side, held its head out over the dry bed and cut its throat with his pocketknife, and its blood ran down the stream bed and reddened the gravel and fell into the bucket. It was over too soon. “So little,” Joseph thought sadly. “Poor, starved creature, it had so little blood.”
