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. At a 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*8, 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 do 



more.' 5 



