American Big-Game Hunting 
have grown one, two, and three winters are 
mingled with their elders. 
Not less peaceful is the scene near some 
river-bank, when the herds come down to 
water. From the high prairie on every side 
they stream into the valley, stringing along in 
single file, each band following the deep trail 
worn in the parched soil by the tireless feet 
of generations of their kind. At a quick walk 
they swing along, their heads held low. The 
long beards of the bulls sweep the ground; 
the shuffling tread of many hoofs marks their 
passing, and above each long line rises a 
cloud of dust that sometimes obscures the 
westering sun. 
Life, activity, excitement, mark another 
memory as vivid as these. From behind a 
near hill mounted men ride out and charge 
down toward the herd. For an instant the 
buffalo pause to stare, and then crowd toge- 
ther in a close throng, jostling and pushing 
one another, a confused mass of horns, hair, 
and hoofs. Heads down and tails in air, they 
rush away from their pursuers, and as they 
race along herd joins herd, till the black 
mass sweeping over the prairie numbers thou- 
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