A Buffalo Story 
The next year—the winter of ’72 and 
’73—this herd, during its southward migra- 
tion, extended as far west as Fort Lyon, or 
some seventy miles farther west than its route 
of previous years. It was probably driven to 
this course by the extension westward of set- 
tlements in Kansas and Nebraska. This was 
the last great migration of the southern herd 
of buffalo. Millions and millions were killed 
this season, and their hides and tongues 
shipped east over the Union Pacific, Kansas 
Pacific, and Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fé 
railroads, and this leads me to the short 
story I have to tell. 
The winter had been especially severe. 
The entire country north of the Arkansas 
valley was deeply covered with snow, while 
the valley itself was comparatively open. 
The quarters in which I lived faced the 
south. The yard in the rear of my house 
was inclosed by a board fence about seven 
feet high, and a wide gate afforded means 
for entrance. 
One night, in the late winter, or early 
spring, the region was visited by one of those 
terrific storms for which this section is so 
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