The Last of the Plainsmen 



it was that the wolves would not touch anything, 

 alive or dead, that bore the scent of a human being. 



The bison scoured away a long half-mile in the 

 lead, sailing northward like a cloud-shadow over the 

 plain. Kentuck, mettlesome, over-eager, would have 

 run himself out in short order, but the wary hunter, 

 strong to restrain as well as impel, with the long 

 day in his mind, kept the steed in his easy stride, 

 which, springy and stretching, overhauled the herd 

 in the course of several miles. 



A dash, a whirl, a shock, a leap, horse and hunter 

 working in perfect accord, and a fine big calf, bellow 

 ing lustily, struggled desperately for freedom under 

 the remorseless knee. The big hands toyed with 

 him; and then, secure in the double knots, the calf lay 

 still, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes, 

 with the coat of the hunter tucked under his bonds to 

 keep away the wolves. 



The race had but begun; the horse had but 

 warmed to his work; the hunter had but tasted of 

 sweet triumph. Another hopeful of a buffalo mother, 

 negligent in danger, truant from his brothers, stum 

 bled and fell in the enmeshing loop. The hunter s 

 vest, slipped over the calf s neck, served as danger 

 signal to the wolves. Before the lumbering buffalo 

 missed their loss, another red and black baby kicked 

 helplessly on the grass and sent up vain, weak calls, 



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