T/te Last of the Buffalo 



time bestrode a horse, while few had ever 

 used fire-arms. On such a hunt, one well- 

 known railroad director, eager to kill a 

 buffalo, declined to trust himself on horse- 

 back, preferring to bounce over the rough 

 prairie in an ambulance driven by an 

 alarmed soldier, who gave less attention 

 to the mules he was guiding than to the 

 loaded and cocked pistol which his excited 

 passenger was brandishing. 



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 com- 

 panion 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, we 

 would bring in the desired meat. The 

 troops would march during the day ; for 

 the commanding officer had no notion of 



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