SYCE’S ADVENTURE 295 
In what seemed but a few minutes we were close on the 
mighty herd. ‘The dust rose in blinding clouds while the 
thunder of the headlong rush shook the very earth. 
Rider rode against rider. Horses were forced against 
the very sides of the maddened mass. Buffaloes fell and 
men and horses fell on top of them. ‘Then the terror-stricken 
beasts gathered a sort of order as they ran and in a long 
dark line streamed away from their pursuers. It was now 
that most of the killing was done. Good hunters and well 
trained ponies getting out of the melee had at last their 
turn. Hanging on the flank, coming up with sharp, sudden 
rush when the trade gun was again loaded with a handful 
of powder, or a bullet spit from the Indian’s capacious 
mouth, with a smack of the gun butt on thigh or horse’s 
quarter to settle the powder into the priming pan of the 
flintlock. Ata few feet distance such a charge well placed 
was enough. Then fall a few yards behind to load again. 
So on, and on, and on ! 
I had a very confused idea of what I did on that first 
great day. I was armed with about as cumbersome and 
ineffective a weapon as I could have chosen if I had tried, 
a heavy thirteen-pound double-barrel rifle by Rigby that 
took a bullet almost the size of an egg, and kicked so that 
it nearly knocked me off my pony. I only know that I did 
all I knew, and at the time that was’nt much! 
You may have heard of the brave citizen of a lawless 
little cattle town, in the early 70’s, who was elected by his 
fellow citizens to fill the dangerous office of sheriff, and who, 
as was expected, in consequence of his acceptance of the post, 
died soon after, as the Western saying is, ‘““With his boots on.” 
He was popular, and the community voted him a public 
funeral and a headstone. The inscription on the latter 
ran, ““ To the memory of ——————— Sheriff of —— 
“He did his damn’dest — no angel in heaven could ae 
more.’ 
