WAS THERE EVER ANOTHER SUCH ? 305 



drops scatter like red-hot shot around him, seeming 

 to hiss in globules of fury, as they spatter upon the 

 dry grass. Bladder-like bubbles sputter in ebb and 

 flow, from the red holes over his lungs. Tiny doors, 

 for death's messengers to have entered in at. 



What a marvel of size and ferocity he looks. 

 Only our horse's legs stand between us and disem- 

 bowelment. Down drops the head into battery again, 

 and his rush would knock us over like nine-pins, did 

 we stay to receive it. But bison charges are short 

 ones. Our animals spring away, and he stops. Signs 

 of grogginess are coming on him. How he hates to 

 feel his knees shake, straightening them out with a 

 jerk, as we thought he was just going down. 



But at last gradually and gracefully he sinks, 

 doubling his legs under him, and resting on his belly. 

 There is still no flurry, or motion of any kind denoting 

 pain. Unconquerable to the death, he suddenly falls 

 on his side, the limbs stiffen, and he is dead. 



Twine your hands in the long beard, and in the 

 mane. How he shames the lion, for whom he could 

 furnish coats half a dozen times over. What switches 

 of hair those black fetlocks would make. Was there 

 ever another so big a bison? 



Wondering over this, we lie down on the prostrate 

 bulk, and wait for the wagon. 



