168 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



the moment, but recovery is rapid. An irritated and 

 despondent sportsman returned silently to camp that 

 night. 



We had now been in one camp for about a fort- 

 night, and it became advisable to move elsewhere. 

 Bate and myself had secured several good elk- heads 

 apiece, as well as a few antelope, and a deer or two 

 for the larder. September had begun, and the weather 

 was somewhat colder. We struck camp and moved, 

 in a three days' journey, to the foot of the Rattle- 

 snake Range, beyond which a few buffalo were known 

 to range, and there we enjoyed our first run after 

 these shaggy, characteristic now, alas ! exterminated 

 big-game of Western North America. The pursuit 

 and the kill were exciting enough, for the experience 

 was new. We shot two fine old bulls and took their 

 heads and skins, which formed a good pack for two 

 spare horses led for the purpose, and after that were 

 satisfied to leave the buffalo alone for that year. 



On a subsequent hunting trip to the Bighorn Moun- 

 tains, described in a following chapter, we ran buffalo 

 on horseback till we tired of the sport, and might 

 have killed hundreds had we desired to do so. I have 

 been content with half a dozen or so, all told. An 

 old bull buffalo, after the first novelty of his pursuit 

 had worn off, always appealed strongly to my com- 

 passion. The ferocity of his shaggy-fronted appear- 

 ance was at first appalling, but in reality was an 

 imposture of the most transparent kind. A good 

 horse could always run down a buffalo in a mile or 

 so, and the animal was then at the rider's mercy. 

 The buffalo possessed neither the activity of the elk 

 nor the natural weapons of the grizzly. Once only 

 do I remember failing on horseback to catch a 



