BUFFALOES 



Gap and the rock-like balls rolled against one 

 another in the old wallow, I always imagined I 

 could again hear the roaring of the old bull as 

 he pawed the ground and threw the loose 

 stones about with his horns. Then I would walk 

 to the edge of the Gap and look down on the 

 bleached white bones that were rapidly being 

 covered by the falling soil and with a sad heart 

 drop a tear to the memory of the old monarch 

 of the plains. 



Sitting one day on the edge of the Gap, look- 

 ing at the old wallow and the rock-like balls 

 rolling about, something was thrown over my 

 head and I was roughly rolled in the covering. 

 The voices and grunts of Indians were heard 

 with each shake I received. I screamed with 

 fear and made every effort to release myself. 

 Though the Indians from the Reservation 

 which was near by had always been on friendly 

 terms with us, I remembered with horror how 

 only a few weeks before a man living but six 

 miles from our place had been scalped by some 

 passing Indians and left lying dead in the newly 

 ploughed furrow while the oxen patiently stood 

 hitched to the plough. After some effort, 

 ['35] 



