IN BUFFALO DAYS. 



CAPT. D. ROBINSON, U. S. A. 



In the 70's, I was stationed at Fort Shaw, 

 Montana, where buffalo came, every win- 

 ter, within easy reach of the fort. In the 

 very cold winter of '72, storms had driven 

 them, in great numbers, to our vicinity. 

 They could be seen from our quarters, 

 browsing on the banks and bluffs of Sun 

 river, on which the fort stood. 



They were frequently hunted, and many 

 were killed. 



On one occasion, the wife of an officer, 

 with her husband, joined our hunting 

 party. The morning was bright and cold, 

 with about 6 inches of snow on the ground, 

 covered by an icy crust, strong enough in 

 places to bear the weight of a man. After 

 crossing the river, a dash was made at the 

 herd, and rifles soon began to crack. Once 

 on the run, it was everyone for himself, 

 and little attention could be given to those 

 who were left behind in the race. 



The lady took a position whence she 

 could view the sport. Her horse became 

 restive, and bolted, carrying her into the 

 rear of the herd; a most dangerous posi- 

 tion, as wounded animals often charge 

 their pursuers, or those near them. A run 

 lasts until the horses become winded, some 

 holding out longer than others. My horse 

 had seen its best days, and was one of the 

 first to give out. Pulling up, I looked back 

 over the ground we had passed, and saw 

 several buffalo down, and off in the dis- 

 tance, some one on top of a little mound. 

 I rode over, and to my surprise found it 

 was the lady who came out with us. She 

 had been thrown from her horse, and had 

 climbed the mound for safety, and to keep 

 us in view. The rest of the party soon 

 joined us, and we returned to the fort. 

 That evening enough buffalo meat was 

 brought in, to supply the garrison for sev- 

 eral days. 



The next and following days, the buffalo 

 were numerous as ever, and remained in 



the neighborhood until the weather grew 

 milder, when they moved Northward. 



Before they got too far away, I made one 

 of a party to have the last hunt of the 

 season. We took along 2 wagons, a tent, 

 provisions and a few men to assist in 

 dressing the buffalo we expected to kill. 

 About 12 miles out, we sighted a herd, and 

 camped for the night. Early next morn- 

 ing we mounted, fully equipped for a big 

 run. The country was rough and hilly, 

 and taking advantage of the cover we ap- 

 proached the herd. The instant we ap- 

 peared in sight off they went, we closely 

 following. Our horses were in good trim, 

 and after getting warmed up were as eager 

 for the chase as we. We tried to pick out 

 the young cows, and to do so, had to get 

 well into the herd, with buffalo in front and 

 buffalo behind us, all running madly in one 

 direction. Occasionally a wounded ani- 

 mal would make a lunge at one of us, and 

 drop to the rear. A good deal of ammuni- 

 tion was expended, the motion of the 

 horses causing many misses, and many hits 

 were not fatal. 



While still on the run, a horse stepped 

 in a hole, and fell, throwing his rider. We 

 drew up, to render assistance, and were 

 glad to find our companion not seriously 

 hurt. This ended the run, as far as we were 

 concerned, but the buffalo kept hoofing it 

 as fast as ever, and soon disappeared in a 

 deep cut or coulee, about 500 yards away. 



While waiting for the men to come up 

 with the wagons, we noticed that only a 

 few buffalo appeared on the opposite side 

 of the coulee. Our curiosity was excited, 

 and riding over to investigate, we beheld a 

 startling scene. The coulee had been full 

 of soft, slushy snow. In this the leaders of 

 the herd had plunged, and others on top 

 of them, until the cut was bridged with 

 carcasses, and the few survivors passed on 

 over the bodies of the dead. 



AS A REMINDER. 



Albert (time, 11.59 p. m.) — Really, I must 

 be going now; it's getting late. 



Laura (yawning) — Well, you know the 

 old saying. 



Albert— What's that? 



Laura — Better late than never. — Chicago 

 News. 



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