146 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



Lobbied towards the camp, intending to remain quiet the 

 rest of the day. 



I found my old friend awaiting me. He had killed 

 four bucks, and brought away their haunches, the rest 

 not being good eating at this season. We settled to 

 shoot towards the house next day, and then to take 

 horses to carry home the game we had shot. 



On our way homewards we only killed three turkeys. 

 We caught the horses the same evening, and once more 

 reposed our weary limbs among my old friend's family 

 circle. 



At midnight it began to rain, and towards morning it 

 poured in torrents. The game was not to be thought of, 

 and we sat round the fire amusing ourselves with old 

 stories and anecdotes. As we. were talking of the prai- 

 ries, Conwell told us one of his adventures after buffaloes. 



" Not many years ago, when I lived in the Kickapoo 

 prairie, in Missouri, four of us set out one morning to 

 shoot buffaloes. It was bitter cold* and we rode rapidly 

 over the frozen ground. On gaining an elevation, we 

 descried a herd in the distance, and made towards them. 

 When about half a mile from them they discovered us, 

 and ran off, we after them helter-skelter. The hindmost 

 was a cow, too fat to keep up with the others, so we all 

 singled her out for our mark. After galloping for about 

 a mile, she received all our balls, and fell, when we se- 

 cured her. The wind was now blowing from the north- 

 west, almost cold enough to freeze the marrow in our 

 bones, and the dry buffalo dung, the only fuel in the 

 prairies, made but a poor fire. The nearest wood was 

 about a mile from the place where the cow fell, and a 



