THE BISON, OR BUFFALO. 



WHEN he has quitted Fort Leavenworth, 

 on the extreme frontier of the State of 

 Illinois, at the confluence of the Missouri, and 

 ascended northward the River Arkansas, the 

 traveler soon enters upon those great verdurous 

 savannahs, those Saharas full of freshness, those 

 undulating prairies, of which no description can 

 give a very complete or satisfactory idea. 



In these regions, so verdurous and fresh for 

 three parts of the year, the Bisons wander in nu- 

 merous troops. 



Although possessed of great strength, the Bi- 

 son trusts more to its speed and to power of 

 numbers to escape from its pursuers than to any 

 means of defense which nature has given it. Un- 

 graceful in form, its huge head hanging low 

 toward the ground as if it were too heavy for the 

 body, and was even an impediment to its pro- 

 gress, the animal, nevertlieless, speeds away in a 

 kind of lumbering gallop at so rapid a rate that a 

 good Horse is required to enable the hunter to 

 overtake it. As they dash along in serried 

 masses the old Bulls are always in front and on 

 the sides, while the Cows and Calves are huddled 

 together in the centre. Their small fiery eyes 

 flasli from the midst of the tangled hair tliat falls 

 over the forehead, and the herd goes thundering 

 on, enveloped in a cloud of dust, and woe to 

 man or beast that falls in tlieir way. 



No other animated creature is so tenacious of 

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life as the Bison ; unless he be hit through the 

 lungs, or his spinal bone should be broken, he 

 almost invariable escapes the hunter's pursuit. 

 Very often, even when mortally wounded in the 

 heart, the animal possesses sufficient vital force 

 to continue his flight for a considerable distance; 

 and he always makes this supreme effort if he 

 sees the hunter following up his track. 



If, on the contrary, the hunter halts, and con- 

 ceals himself from the sight of the game, the lat- 

 ter ceases to run, and soon falls down never to 

 rise again. Horrible, indeed, are the last convul- 

 sions of a dying Bison ; the noble beast appears 

 to understand that he ought not to touch the 

 ground, for that if he does all hope is lost. 



Wounded in the lungs or heart, spouting blood 

 through mouth and nostrils, his eyes already dim 

 with the shadows of agony, he still sets wide his 

 legs the better to support his tottering bulk ; 

 even to his last breath he resists the inevitable 

 death, and defies it courageously, making the air 

 resound with terrible roars. 



The first time that a novice, however skilled he 

 may be as a hunter, attempts to kill a Bison, des- 

 pite his success in bringing down a Kid or a Goat, 

 he invariably misses his aim. 



Seeing before him an enormous mass, five feet 

 in length from the summit of the hump to the 

 root of the tail, he thinks he ought to plant a 

 bullet right through the centre of the giant's 



