American Big-Game Hunting 



route. The autumn thus far had been very 

 mild. The great migration of the buffalo 

 to their winter range in Texas had not yet 

 begun, and I had some lingering doubts as to 

 whether we might not reach our destination 

 before the head of their column would cross 

 our road. We had gone only about ten miles 

 from camp, however, when I espied a solitary 

 old bull, and instantly I was all excitement, 

 to the great amusement of my companions. 

 Taking an orderly from the ranks, I put spurs 

 to my horse, and was soon in hot pursuit of 

 this decrepit outcast. This was sport new 

 both to my horse and myself. We were both 

 excited and equally timid. At a range of fifty 

 yards, or more, I emptied my revolver at the 

 poor, tottering, old body, and a chance shot 

 hit him and brought him to bay. It was now 

 his turn to take up the chase. With some 

 difficulty I recharged my weapon, and one or 

 two more shots brought my first buffalo to 

 earth. He was old and lean and mangy, and 

 yet I was loath to allow one pound of his 

 flesh to be wasted, and wanted to carry it all 

 back to camp. The orderly said, with a cyni- 

 cal smile, " Lieutenant, he ain't no good to 



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