American Big-Game Hunting 



have grown one, two, and three winters are 

 mingled with their elders. 



Not less peaceful is the scene near some 

 river-bank, when the herds come down to 

 water. From the high prairie on every side 

 they stream into the valley, stringing along in 

 single file, each band following the deep trail 

 worn in the parched soil by the tireless feet 

 of generations of their kind. At a quick walk 

 they swing along, their heads held low. The 

 long beards of the bulls sweep the ground; 

 the shuffling tread of many hoofs marks their 

 passing, and above each long line rises a 

 cloud of dust that sometimes obscures the 

 westering sun. 



Life, activity, excitement, mark another 

 memory as vivid as these. From behind a 

 near hill mounted men ride out and charge 

 down toward the herd. For an instant the 

 buffalo pause to stare, and then crowd toge- 

 ther in a close throng, jostling and pushing 

 one another, a confused mass of horns, hair, 

 and hoofs. Heads down and tails in air, they 

 rush away from their pursuers, and as they 

 race along herd joins herd, till the black 

 mass sweeping over the prairie numbers thou- 



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