BUFFALO HUNTING. 199 
animals, and they scatter in every direction over the 
plain. Now the hunters sclect their victims, and the 
blood is up. On speeds the Indian and his horse. The 
long mane mingles with the light garments of the rider, 
and both seem instigated by the same instinct and spli- 
rit. On plunges the unwieldy object of pursuit, shaking 
his shaggy head, as if in despair of his safety. The 
speed of the horse soon overtakes the buffalo. 
The rider, dropping his rein, plucks an arrow from 
his quiver, presses his knees to the horse’s sides, draws 
his bow, and with unerring aim, drives the delicate shaft 
into the vitals of the huge animal, who rushes on a few 
yards, curls his tail upwards, falters, falls on his face, 
and dies. An exulting shout announces the success, 
and the warrior starts off after another; and if he has 
performed his task well, every bow that has twanged, 
marks the ownership of a huge carcass upon the sea of 
the prairie, as sacredly as the waiffe of the whaleman 
his victim on the sea itself. 
Thus, when the day’s sport is over, every arrow is 
returned to its owner. If two have been used to kill 
the same animal, or any are wanting, having been car- 
ried away in mere flesh wounds; the want of skill is up- 
braided, and the unfortunate hunter shrinks from the 
sarcasms and observation of the successful, with shame. 
Following the hunter are the women, the laborers of 
the tribe. To them is allotted the task of tearing off 
