At last,on nearing the edge of one of these glades we saw a movement among the young trees on the other side,not fifty yards away.Peering through the safe shelter yielded by some thick evergreen bushes,we speedily made out three bison,a cow,a calf,and a yearling,grazing greedily on the other side of the glade,under the fringing timber;all with their heads up hill.Soon another cow and calf stepped out after them.I did not wish to shoot,waiting for the appearance of the big bull which I knew was accompanying them.
So for several minutes I watched the great,clumsy,shaggy beasts,as all unconscious they grazed in the open glade.Behind them rose the dark pines.At the left of the glade the ground fell away to form the side of a chasm;down in its depths the cataracts foamed and thundered;beyond,the huge mountains towered,their crests crimsoned by the sinking sun.Mixed with the eager excitement of the hunter was a certain half melancholy feeling as I gazed on these bison,themselves part of the last remnant of a doomed and nearly vanished race.Few,indeed,are the men who now have,or evermore shall have,the chance of seeing the mightiest of American beasts,in all his wild vigor,surrounded by the tremendous desolation of his far-off mountain home.
At last,when I had begun to grow very anxious lest the others should take alarm,the bull likewise appeared on the edge of the glade,and stood with outstretched head,scratching his throat against a young tree,which shook violently.I aimed low,behind his shoulder,and pulled trigger.At the crack of the rifle all the bison,without the momentary halt of terror-struck surprise so common among game,turned and raced off at headlong speed.The fringe of young pines beyond and below the glade cracked and swayed as if a whirlwind were passing,and in another moment they reached the top of a very steep incline,thickly strewn with boulders and dead timber.Down this they plunged with reckless speed;their surefootedness was a marvel in such seemingly unwieldy beasts.A column of dust obscured their passage,and under its cover they disappeared in the forest;but the trail of the bull was marked by splashes of frothy blood,and we followed it at a trot.Fifty yards beyond the border of the forest we found the stark black body stretched motionless.He was a splendid old bull,still in his full vigor,with large,sharp horns,and heavy mane and glossy coat;and I felt the most exulting pride as I handled and examined him;for I had procured a trophy such as can fall henceforth to few hunters indeed.
It was too late to dress the beast that evening;so,after taking out the tongue and cutting off enough meat for supper and breakfast,we scrambled down to near the torrent,and after some search found a good spot for camping.Hot and dusty from the day's hard tramp,I undressed and took a plunge in the stream,the icy water making me gasp.Then,having built a slight lean-to of brush,and dragged together enough dead timber to burn all night,we cut long alder twigs,sat down before some embers raked apart,and grilled and ate our buffalo meat with the utmost relish.Night had fallen;a cold wind blew up the valley;the torrent roared as it leaped past us,and drowned our words as we strove to talk over our adventures and success;while the flame of the fire flickered and danced,lighting up with continual vivid flashes the gloom of the forest round about.
