The Last of the Plainsmen 



was good for all day. Jones gloated over the little 

 red bulls and heifers, as a miser gloats over gold 

 and jewels. Never before had he caught more than 

 two in one day, and often it had taken days to cap 

 ture one. This was the last herd, this the last oppor 

 tunity toward perpetuating a grand race of beasts. 

 And with born instinct he saw ahead the day of his 

 life. 



At a touch, Kentuck closed in, and the buffalo, 

 seeing him, stampeded into the heaving roll so well 

 known to the hunter. Racing on the right flank of 

 the herd, Jones selected a tawny heifer and shot 

 the lariat after her. It fell true, but being stiff and 

 kinky from the sleet, failed to tighten, and the quick 

 calf leaped through the loop to freedom. 



Undismayed the pursuer quickly recovered his 

 rope. Again he whirled and sent the loop. Again 

 it circled true, and failed to close; again the agile 

 heifer bounded through it. Jones whipped the air 

 with the stubborn rope. To lose a chance like that 

 was worse than boy s work. 



The third whirl, running a smaller loop, tightened 

 the coil round the frightened calf just back of its ears. 

 A pull on the bridle brought Kentuck to a halt in 

 his tracks, and the baby buffalo rolled over and over 

 in the grass. Jones bounced from his seat and 

 jerked loose a couple of the soft cords. In a twinkling 



64 



