MY LAST HUNT IX KANSAS. 



GEN. F. \V. BENTEEN. 



During the winter and spring of 1871, I 

 was stationed, as a Captain of the 7th U. 

 S. Cavalry, at Fort Hays, Kansas. From 

 there we were ordered across to the forks 

 of the Solomon river; for the settlers in that 

 part of the State had been somewhat un- 

 necessarily stampeded. 



On onr first buffalo hunt, when en route 

 to give the settlers surcease from imaginary 

 sorrow. 1 shot, while running alongside of 

 her, a fat buffalo cow. After getting the 

 carcass ready to put into the wagon, it was 



On arriving at onr destination, we 

 learned exactly what we were satisfied of 

 before leaving the post: there were no live- 

 Indians in that section of country. Never- 

 theless, the folks were glad to have the 

 cavalry around. To render assurance 

 doubly sure, I had the forks thoroughly 

 scouted; then started homeward by the 

 route most generally taken by hostile Ind- 

 ians going Northward. 



No Indian signs were seen save the dead 

 fellows in the crotches of trees. These had 



CATLIN, THE ARTIST, SHOOTING BUFFALOES. 



found that the bullet from my revolver had 

 gone through the animal and the forefoot 

 of an exceedingly fine Russian mastiff. I 

 had not noticed the dog running at the side 

 of the cow. As his color was just that of a 

 buffalo calf, this was not at all strange. 

 With a piece of old shelter-tent and some 

 grease from an axle, we bound the mastiff's 

 foot, gave him a drink of water from our 

 canteens, and laid him with care alongside 

 the buffalo, in the wagon. 



A few miles from that scene, our dogs 

 started an immense wildcat and drove it 

 into one of the ponds, which in springtime 

 abound on the plains. The cat was such a 

 vigorous fellow we shot him — not caring 

 to have any more of our dogs hurt. 



become good Indians, and had started on 

 the journey to the happy hunting grounds. 



In the Saline river valley we ran into a 

 band of not less than 400 elk. Such a 

 time as we had running them down and 

 shooting them from horseback, does not 

 occur very often in one's lifetime. Our 

 wagons, which had been pretty nearly emp- 

 tied of supplies, were now about packed 

 with the finest and fattest of buffalo, elk and 

 antelope meat. None of it was to be wasted, 

 for, as we were nearing the station, it 

 would be divided among our less fortunate 

 companions in arms, the infantry. They 

 had fewer opportunities than we to add to 

 their larder. 



The last day, while approaching the line 



