122 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 



We helped the unfortunate to a speedier death, and lingered to 

 observe him. His travels had been far, beginning doubtless up 



" In the land of the Dakotah," 



whence winter drove him with all his herd down the murky Missouri. 

 On the Platte somewhere he passed the second summer ; then, from 

 the hunting of the Sioux and their fierce kinsmen, he escaped into 

 Colorado ; after a year of rest, in search of better pastures, he pushed 

 southward again, lingering in the fields about the head-waters of 

 the Arkansas ; there the bold riders of the Comanche found him ; 

 breaking from them, he disappeared for a time in the bleak wilder- 

 ness called The Staked Plains ; thence to the Rio Grande, and across 

 into Chihuahua, the pursuer still at his heels ; and now there was an 

 end of travel and persecution. As we returned from the chase, I saw 

 him again, lying where we found him, a banquet for the whimpering 

 wolves. Already he was despoiled of his tongue. 



The incident, as may be thought, whetted the ardor of the party 

 to the sharpest edge. A wide interval stretched between us and the 

 mountain toward which the game had disappeared ; in some of the 

 long swales ahead we knew they were feeding ; possibly we might 

 strike them before noon ; nobody felt tired. Santos rode forward at 

 a canter ; we followed in a body, saying little, but never so observ- 

 ant. Two more miles were put behind. Suddenly, as the mozo was 

 making the ascent of a long up-grade, he stopped, and, turning in 

 his saddle and pointing forward, shouted: " Ola, los bufalos /" 



Not a man but felt a great heart-beat and a thrill which shocked 

 him from head to foot. As at command, we raised the guns, lying 

 across the saddles before us. As at command, too, we all broke into 

 a gallop. Santos, like a sensible fellow, came back to meet us. 



"Where are they?" everybody asked in a breath. 



" Just over the hill," he answered, suppressing his excitement. 



" Are there many of them ? " I asked. 



" Caramba, seizor ! We cannot kill them all before night." 



We gained the top of the grade, and there they were — not a 

 quarter of a mile away, grazing slowly onward — los demonios del 

 Norte. 



To the left, under a well-grown tree, I caught sight of one, 

 solemn, sedate, magnificent in proportion, magnificently draped in 



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