AMOS DECKER. 349 



Unconsciously I gave a whoop as the picked animal 

 came in plain view, and the pony didn't need spur nor 

 whip to quicken his pace to get alongside; he understood 

 it all. Once alongside the galloping beast, a new diffi- 

 culty appeared ; she was at my right hand, and I feared to 

 twist in the saddle, not knowing how the pony would act, 

 and I had never shot from my left shoulder. I did, how- 

 ever, shift the rifle to my left arm and fired. The pony 

 never swerved, and the huge beast dropped. The shot 

 caused the animals near me to crowd away, and I circled 

 about and shot again as the animal was about to rise; a 

 few struggles and I had killed a buffalo. 



"Come on! Kill some more!" yelled Warren as he 

 passed, seeking a fresh victim; but I had cooled down, 

 and was content to watch the herd as it turned off to the 

 right up the river, looking more like a sea covered with 

 rolling porpoises than anything I can liken it to. I sat 

 on my pony gazing on the wonderful sight while my 

 companions followed the herd and thought only of kill- 

 ing. To-day it seems like a dream. Where we rode be- 

 side that great herd the locomotive shrieks, and a genera- 

 tion of men has been born who may occasionally plow up 

 a bone or a horn that tells of an extinct race of great 

 animals. 



It was well along in the afternoon before all had gath- 

 ered at the camp, and the rain still fell. The guards fed 

 the ponies, and we made a big fire to dry ourselves by, 

 and by the time supper was over there was a rainbow in 

 the east. Amos came over to our wagon, and wanted to 

 know how I liked buffalo hunting. 



"Well, Amos," I replied, "it's a good deal like goin' 

 into a barnyard an' shooting cattle; just galloping along- 

 side of a steer, an' pluggin' him with lead until he drops. 

 I'd a heap sight rather shoot woodcock." 



