In Buffalo Days 
ting the spurs well in, galloped up the ravine 
and up on the flat; and as we came into view, 
the nearest buffalo, as if propelled by a 
huge spring, were on their feet, and, with 
a second’s pause to look, dashed away to the 
north. Scattered over the flat were fifty or 
seventy-five buffalo, all of which, by the time 
we had glanced over the field, were off, with 
heads bending low to the ground, and short, 
spiky tails stretched out behind. We were 
up even with the last of the cows, and our 
horses were running easily and seemed to 
have plenty of reserve power. Charley, who 
was a little ahead of me, called back: “They 
will cross the trail about a mile north of here. 
Kill a couple when we get to it.” I nodded, 
and we went on. The herd raced forward 
over the rolling hills, and in what seemed a 
very short time we rushed down a long slope 
on to a wide flat, in which was a prairie-dog 
town of considerable extent. We were on 
the very heels of the herd, and in a cloud of 
dust kicked up by their rapid flight. To see 
the ground ahead was impossible. We could 
only trust to our horses and our good luck to 
save us from falling. Our animals were doing 
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