A BOY'S FIRST BUFFALO. 



R. J. WILLIAMS. 



The sketch entitled " My First Buffalo," 

 by Conrad Haney, reminds me of how I 

 killed mine. 



It was in the spring of 1872, while living 

 in Washington county, Kansas, that I ob- 

 tained leave to accompany 5 of our neigh- 

 bors on a trip to the Western part of the 

 State. They intended to catch buffalo 

 calves, which they could sell at home for 

 $40 a pair. The trip out, of something like 

 150 miles, was delightful, and an altogether 

 new experience to me, a boy of 16. Our 

 guns consisted of muzzle loading muskets, 

 cap and ball revolvers and one 16 shot 

 Henry rifle, somewhat out of repair; but 

 as we were not strictly a hunting outfit, our 

 lack of arms was a small affair. Our main 

 dependence was on 3 fine running horses 

 with their reckless riders. They proved 

 as good as they looked, capturing altogether 

 15 calves; though we failed, from lack of 

 cows' milk, to get them all home. 



We reached a small stream up the South 

 fork of the Salmon, one Saturday night; 

 and having seen a few buffalo during the 

 day, concluded to camp there. The next 

 morning I appropriated the Henry, and 

 got away without any questions being 

 asked. Though I knew nothing of stalking 

 big game, I determined to kill the first 

 buffalo and had every confidence in my 

 ability to do so. After a 3 mile walk, 

 through hollows and draws, I came sud- 

 denly on the game I was after. Six or 7 

 buffaloes were standing and lying within 

 a stone's throw of me as I climbed out of 

 a wash at the head of a gulch. This was 

 a little more than my nerves could stand. 

 The nearness of their great bodies, magni- 

 fied by the heat mirage and my imagina- 

 tion, made them look like monsters. I 

 was inclined to retire and not disturb their 

 peace and quiet. 



I had begun my retreat when suddenly 

 they became buffaloes again, and their size 

 was considerably reduced as I noted what 

 a snug hiding place I had in the washout. 

 So, with lips firmly closed to keep my 

 heart from jumping out, I crawled up, took 

 aim, and pulled the trigger. I shall always 



believe I hit one of them, though I am 

 unable to prove it. I remembered after- 

 ward that I heard one grunt as they all 

 sprang away and left me working the lever 

 till I had pumped the old Henry dry, with- 

 out pulling the trigger once, after that first 

 spasmodic yank. Sitting there alone with 

 nature, I speedily came to the conclusion 

 that something besides the game had been 

 scared, and that my chance of killing a buf- 

 falo was down about zero. 



While making a bee line for camp, I 

 caught sight of 3 buffaloes about a mile 

 off, but coming in my direction. I re- 

 membered then that I had not counted the 

 other bunch, probably because they were 

 too close. 



A short run put me within easy range 

 as the 3 passed, and, as luck would have 

 it, after firing 3 shots at a running buffalo 

 I saw him slow down to a walk. He turned 

 into a gulch, and by running across a bend 

 I got on the side hill ahead of him. As I 

 fired, he saw me, bu f too late. I had some- 

 how pulled myself together. That shot 

 scored me the first buffalo and $1 the boys 

 gave me for killing it. 



One of the cowboys in the outfit had a 

 mighty interesting interview with a big buf- 

 falo bull that same day. He sneaked up on 

 a bunch in a coulee, made a dash at them 

 and emptied his revolver into 2 of the largest. 

 One old giant was badly hit and dropped 

 out of the bunch. The cowboy was riding 

 one of our running horses and felt perfectly 

 safe in going into close quarters with the 

 bull. He loaded his revolver and carelessly 

 rode within a few feet of the animal to give 

 him a finishing shot when, quick as light- 

 ning, the old monarch turned on him, made 

 a plunge and caught his horse on the hip. 

 The horse sprang forward at the same in- 

 stant, but the bull gave him such a lift that 

 he turned end over end, and horse and 

 rider were badly mixed for a few seconds. 

 " Scotty " got on his feet just in time to 

 dodge another charge from the bull and as 

 he went by gave him 3 shots in rapid suc- 

 cession, which finished him. Thus he avoid- 

 ed being finished himself. 



" So you are engaged to the man I rejected 

 3 times? " 



"Yes, he mentioned it; he said the luck 

 of odd numbers was really wonderful." — 

 Truth. 



