The Last Herd 



hunter seized the stiff tail, and calling to his horse, 

 leaped off. But his strength was far spent, and the 

 buffalo, larger than his fellows, threshed about and 

 jerked in terror. Jones threw it again and again. 

 But it struggled up, never once ceasing its loud 

 demands for help. Finally the hunter tripped it 

 up and fell upon it with his knees. 



Above the rumble of retreating hoofs, Jones heard 

 the familiar short, quick, jarring pound on the turf. 

 Kentuck neighed his alarm and raced to the right. 

 Bearing down on the hunter, hurtling through the 

 air, was a giant furry mass, instinct with fierce life 

 and power a buffalo cow robbed of her young. 



With his senses almost numb, barely able to pull 

 and raise the Colt, the plainsman willed to live, and 

 to keep his captive. His leveled arm wavered like 

 a leaf in a storm. 



Bang! Fire, smoke, a shock, a jarring crash, and 

 silence ! 



The calf stirred beneath him. He put out a hand 

 to touch a warm, furry coat. The mother had fallen 

 beside him. Lifting a heavy hoof, he laid it over 

 the neck of the calf to serve as additional weight. 

 He lay still and listened. The rumble of the herd 

 died away in the distance. 



The evening waned. Still the hunter lay quiet. 



From time to time the calf struggled and bellowed. 



73 



