OUTSIDE BROWNING, Blackfeet Nation On a warm morning in June, Brandon Boyce watched as a bison bull stepped away from its herd. The 16-year-old hunter, his face nearly covered in reddish-brown paint, fired, striking the bull behind the ear a challenging shot, but one that kills instantly when well-executed and wastes almost no meat.

Everything went right that day, said Shane Little Bear, who helped prepare Boyce for the hunt. He was blessed.

Boyces hunting party loaded the massive animal onto the flatbed of their truck and drove it over Buffalo Spirit Hill Ranchs rolling hills and into a field in front of a barn where a group had gathered, many of them standing beside coolers.

Several children ran up to the animal, oohing and aahing, while running their fingers through the thick tufts of fur around his neck. His eyes are still open, one said. I want to help! said another.

Five people of all ages and genders began to butcher the bison, first slicing and twisting the head from the spine, then cutting through the sternum with a jigsaw, thickening the air with the iron-laden smell of warm blood and fresh meat.

Termaine Edmo, a 35-year-old social worker who learned traditional butchery growing up in a family of ranchers, called out explanations to the crowd in a booming voice as the butchers worked their knives through the abdominal wall and diaphragm, then yanked the esophagus down the length of the bisons body to hoist out the guts.

The tribe historically prized organs, especially the heart and liver, Edmo said, as a man walked around the crowd offering fresh slices of raw kidney. Under no circumstances, however, should they let bile spill onto the meat from the gallbladder.

Edmo passed off the stomach and intestines to a group of young girls, her daughters among them, who went to work emptying them. They searched the half-digested grasses and herbs in the stomach for invasive species, and dragged their fingers down the length of the intestine to squish out the excrement.