I Saw No Glory In Shooting A Wounded Animal, So I Turned My Horse Back Again, But Had Not Gone Far Before I Heard The Pistol Shot.

Then I rode over to see the huge animal, and found Faye and Lieutenant Alden in a state of great excitement.

They said he was a magnificent specimen - unusually large, and very black - what they call a blue skin - with a splendid head and beard. I had been exposed to a bitterly cold wind, without the warming exercise of riding, for over an hour, and my hands were so cold and stiff that I could scarcely hold the reins, so they jumped me up on the shoulders of the warm body, and I buried my hands in the long fur on his neck. He fell on his wounded side, and looked precisely as though he was asleep - -so much so that I half expected him to spring up and resent the indignity he was being subjected to.

Very soon after that Faye and I came on home, reaching the post about seven o'clock. We had been in our saddles most of the time for twelve hours, on a cold day, and were tired and stiff, and when Faye tried to assist me from my horse I fell to the ground in a heap. But I got through the day very well, considering the very short time I have been riding - that is, really riding. The hunt was a grand sight, and something that probably I will never have a chance of seeing again - and, to be honest, I do not want to see another, for the sight of one of those splendid animals running for his life is not a pleasant one.

The rest of the party did not come in until several hours later; but they brought the meat and skins of four buffalo, and the head of Lieutenant Alden's, which he will send East to be mounted. The skin he intends to take to an Indian camp, to be tanned by the squaws. Lieutenant Baldwin followed his buffalo until he got in the position he wanted, and then killed him with one shot. Faye says that only a cool head and experience could have done that. Much depends upon the horse, too, for so many horses are afraid of a buffalo, and lunge sideways just at the critical moment.

Several experienced hunters tell marvelous tales of how they have stood within a few yards of a buffalo and fired shot after shot from a Springfield rifle, straight at his head, the balls producing no effect whatever, except, perhaps, a toss of the head and the flying out of a tuft of hair. Every time the ball would glance off from the thick skull. The wonderful mat of curly hair must break the force some, too. This mat, or cushion, in between the horns of the buffalo Lieutenant Alden killed, was so thick and tangled that I could not begin to get my fingers in it.

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