An Enormous Black Head Is
Thrust Out, The Horns Just Visible Amid The Mass Of Tangled Mane.
Half sliding, half plunging, down comes the buffalo upon the river-
bed below.
He steps out in full sight upon the sands. Just before
him a runnel of water is gliding, and he bends his head to drink.
You may hear the water as it gurgles down his capacious throat. He
raises his head, and the drops trickle from his wet beard. He stands
with an air of stupid abstraction, unconscious of the lurking danger.
Noiselessly the hunter cocks his rifle. As he sits upon the sand,
his knee is raised, and his elbow rests upon it, that he may level
his heavy weapon with a steadier aim. The stock is at his shoulder;
his eye ranges along the barrel. Still he is in no haste to fire.
The bull, with slow deliberation, begins his march over the sands to
the other side. He advances his foreleg, and exposes to view a small
spot, denuded of hair, just behind the point of his shoulder; upon
this the hunter brings the sight of his rifle to bear; lightly and
delicately his finger presses upon the hair-trigger. Quick as
thought the spiteful crack of the rifle responds to his slight touch,
and instantly in the middle of the bare spot appears a small red dot.
The buffalo shivers; death has overtaken him, he cannot tell from
whence; still he does not fall, but walks heavily forward, as if
nothing had happened.
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