Work in the Dakota Group 7 



rode through the herd and sent them all off at a 

 lope. Much angered and almost tempted to turn 

 my gun on the man, I returned to the wagon, and 

 we drove on across country that had been cropped 

 as if by a great herd of sheep by the thousands of 

 buffalo that had passed that way on their journey 

 south. 



Anxious to find picketing-ground and water, we 

 reached the Arkansas River, where in a swale cov- 

 ered with grass and willows were paths cut by the 

 buffalo. I lay down in one of these, and bringing 

 my gun to my shoulder, was just drawing bead, 

 when a large animal rushed across my line of vision 

 at right angles to the trail. I pulled the trigger, 

 and down went the brown mass in a heap on the 

 ground. 



Swinging my gun above my head, I rushed for- 

 ward shouting, " I've killed a buffalo ! " to find 

 that I had shot a Texas cow. Terrified at the 

 thought of its owner's anger, we rushed back to 

 the wagon, and, whipping up the ponies, sped away 

 as if the furies were after us. But cooler second 

 thoughts led us to the conclusion that the cow had 

 come north with the buffalo, and was as much our 

 prey as the buffalo themselves. 



Just before sunset we reached a part of the coun- 

 try through which the buffalo had not passed, where 

 a rich carpet of grass, covering all the plain, offered 



