American Big-Game Hunting 



the great blue army-wagons, under whose 

 white tilts were piled all the comforts that the 

 post could furnish — unlimited food and drink, 

 and many sacks of forage for the animals. 

 Here all was mirth and jest and good-fellow- 

 ship, and, except that canvas covered them 

 while they slept, the hunters lived in as much 

 comfort as when at home. The killing of 

 buffalo was to them only an excuse for their 

 jolly outing amid novel scenes. 



It was on the plains of Montana, in the 

 days when buffalo were still abundant, that I 

 had one of my last buffalo-hunts — a hunt 

 with a serious purpose. A company of fifty 

 or more men, who for weeks had been living 

 on bacon and beans, longed for the "boss 

 ribs " of fat cow, and when we struck the 

 buffalo range two of us were deputed to kill 

 some meat. My companion was an old 

 prairie-man of great experience, and I myself 

 was not altogether new to the West, for I 

 had hunted in many territories, and had more 

 than once been "jumped" by hostile Indians. 

 Our horses were not buffalo-runners, yet 

 we felt a certain confidence that if we could 

 find a bunch and get a good start on them, 



