WILLIAM WARREN. 319 



freight from Potosi, Wis., and the chest had been stolen 

 somewhere on the rivers or at St. Louis, and I had only 

 a Colt's navy revolver to shoot with. From what I had 

 seen of these big, unwieldy buffalo fish on the riffles it 

 was certain that the revolver was good enough for such 

 work. The fish were very plenty, and were mating and 

 spawning on every riffle, but at the least alarm would 

 dodge down into the pools below. The Cottonwood was 

 a series of deep pools and gravelly riffles, over which the 

 water flowed swiftly, and sometimes these were so shal- 

 low as to leave the hump-backed buffalo partly out of 

 water. The river may have averaged sixty feet across, 

 and it cut through a deep alluvial soil, forming high 

 banks in most places, except at the inside of curves, 

 where the current had made a gentle slope to the water. 

 The riffles were at these points, and we could get near 

 them by approaching the fish from the low side. It was 

 not a particle of sport, but Warren thought it fun, and 

 wanted to go on killing after we had more than we could 

 carry; but I said no, and we strung our fish and went 

 home. 



"Betcher I c'ld kill a thousand bufHer in half a day an' 

 not go over two mile on the river. What's the reason 

 you wouldn't kill any more? Don't yer like the fun?" 



"No; there's no fun in killing things that you don't 

 want to use, unless they're rats or other vermin which 

 annoy you. My idea of sport is to hunt something 

 which is hard to find, and is some use after you have 

 found it. Shooting these fish is good enough when you 

 want a change of diet from ham and salt pork, but they're 

 too easy for sport. As you say, you could probably kill 

 a thousand in half a day, but shooting at a mark is just 

 as much fun; in fact, it would be more fun for me than 

 to kill things for the mere sake of killing." 



