In Buffalo Days 



sands. On its skirts hover the active, nim- 

 ble horsemen, with twanging bowstrings and 

 sharp arrows piercing many fat cows. The 

 naked Indians cling to their naked horses as 

 if the two were parts of one incomparable 

 animal, and swing and yield to every motion 

 of their steeds with the grace of perfect horse- 

 manship. The ponies, as quick and skilful as 

 the men, race up beside the fattest of the herd, 

 swing off to avoid the charge of a maddened 

 cow, and, returning, dart close to the victim, 

 whirling hither and yon, like swallows on the 

 wing. And their riders, with the unconscious 

 skill, grace, and power of matchless archery, 

 are drawing their bows to the arrow's head, 

 and driving the feathered shaft deep through 

 the bodies of the buffalo. Returning on their 

 tracks, they skin the dead, then load the meat 

 and robes on their horses, and with laughter 

 and jest ride away. 



After them, on the deserted prairie, come 

 the wolves to tear at the carcasses. The rain 

 and the snow wash the blood from the bones, 

 and fade and bleach the hair. For a few 

 months the skeleton holds together; then it 

 falls apart, and the fox and the badger pull 



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