12 Hunting the Grisly 



and lost their sheerness, the vast buffalo herds, 

 passing and repassing for countless genera* 

 tions, had worn furrowed trails so deep that 

 the backs of the beasts were but little above 

 the surrounding soil. In the bottom, and in 

 places along the crests of the cliffs that 

 hemmed in the canyon-like valley, there were 

 groves of tangled trees, tenanted by great 

 flocks of wild turkeys. Once my brother 

 made two really remarkable shots at a pair 

 of these great birds. It was at dusk, and they 

 were flying directly overhead from one cliff 

 to the other. He had in his hand a thirty- 

 eight calibre Ballard rifle, and, as the gob- 

 blers winged their way heavily by, he brought 

 both down with two successive bullets. This 

 was of course mainly a piece of mere luck; but 

 it meant good shooting, too. The Ballard 

 was a very accurate, handy little weapon; it 

 belonged to me, and was the first rifle I ever 

 owned or used. With it I had once killed 

 a deer, the only specimen of large game I had 

 then shot; and I presented the rifle to my 

 brother when he went to Texas. In our happy 

 ignorance we deemed it quite good enough 

 for buffalo or anything else; but out on the 

 plains my brother soon found himself forced 

 to procure a heavier and more deadly weapon. 



