MY FIRST TRIP TO THE ROCKIES 169 



buffalo. It was down a long stretch of gently -sloping 

 prairie, and I ran my favourite horse to a standstill 

 without getting within shot. Up any kind of hill his 

 heavy fore-hand rendered a buffalo useless in front of 

 a horse. His size, moreover, and his dark shaggy 

 coat made him conspicuous and easily picked up at 

 any reasonable distance on the prairie. Concealment 

 was out of the question, as these animals always 

 frequented the open. I have heard of the Rocky 

 Mountain wood-bison, but I never saw one. 



I have to confess that I once photographed an old 

 bull buffalo as he stood mortally wounded and full of 

 impotent fight on a stretch of Wyoming prairie. This 

 was a year or two later. The ' boys ' on horseback 

 formed an appropriate and sympathetic background. 

 The deed was deliberately done and with purpose 

 aforethought. I do not attempt to palliate it. We 

 were coming into camp one afternoon, when a buffalo 

 was seen grazing in a hollow a mile or so away. We 

 stalked, wounded, and ran him to a standstill in a 

 couple of miles. The cook galloped in the rear with 

 the camera slung on his back, and after some slight 

 display of impatience on the buffalo's part, a charge 

 on the camera being even attempted, his portrait 

 was duly transferred to a plate. This done, he was 

 promptly slain, again photographed, and his head now 

 adorns my home. 



Though the disappearance of the buffalo, from a 

 strictly sporting point of view, is not so important ; 

 yet from a zoological, and even a commercial stand- 

 point, it is a thousand pities that these unique wild 

 animals have been so ruthlessly and wantonly ex- 

 terminated by a sometime reckless and democratic 

 civilization. Crossed with domestic cattle, they 



