SPORT had been the final cause of my trip to America - sport and the love of adventure. As the bison - buffalo, as they are called - are now extinct, except in preserved districts, a few words about them as they then were may interest game hunters of the present day.
No description could convey an adequate conception of the numbers in which they congregated. The admirable illustrations in Catlin's great work on the North American Indians, afford the best idea to those who have never seen the wonderful sight itself. The districts they frequented were vast sandy uplands sparsely covered with the tufty buffalo or gramma grass. These regions were always within reach of the water-courses; to which morning and evening the herds descended by paths, after the manner of sheep or cattle in a pasture. Never shall I forget the first time I witnessed the extraordinary event of the evening drink.
Seeing the black masses galloping down towards the river, by the banks of which our party were travelling, we halted some hundred yards short of the tracks. To have been caught amongst the animals would have been destruction; for, do what they would to get out of one's way, the weight of the thousands pushing on would have crushed anything that impeded them. On the occasion I refer to we approached to within safe distance, and fired into them till the ammunition in our pouches was expended.
As examples of our sporting exploits, three days taken almost at random will suffice. The season was so far advanced that, unless we were to winter at Fort Laramie, it was necessary to keep going. It was therefore agreed that whoever left the line of march - that is, the vicinity of the North Platte - for the purpose of hunting should take his chance of catching up the rest of the party, who were to push on as speedily as possible. On two of the days which I am about to record this rule nearly brought me into trouble. I quote from my journal:
'Left camp to hunt by self. Got a shot at some deer lying in long grass on banks of a stream. While stalking, I could hardly see or breathe for mosquitos; they were in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Steady aim was impossible; and, to my disgust, I missed the easiest of shots. The neck and flanks of my little grey are as red as if painted. He is weak from loss of blood. Fred's head is now so swollen he cannot wear his hard hat; his eyes are bunged up, and his face is comic to look at. Several deer and antelopes; but ground too level, and game too wild to let one near. Hardly caring what direction I took, followed outskirts of large wood, four or five miles away from the river. Saw a good many summer lodges; but knew, by the quantity of game, that the Indians had deserted them. In the afternoon came suddenly upon deer; and singling out one of the youngest fawns, tried to run it down. The country being very rough, I found it hard work to keep between it and the wood. First, my hat blew off; then a pistol jumped out of the holster; but I was too near to give up, - meaning to return for these things afterwards. Two or three times I ran right over the fawn, which bleated in the most piteous manner, but always escaped the death-blow from the grey's hoofs. By degrees we edged nearer to the thicket, when the fawn darted down the side of a bluff, and was lost in the long grass and brushwood, I followed at full speed; but, unable to arrest the impetus of the horse, we dashed headlong into the thick scrub, and were both thrown with violence to the ground. I was none the worse; but the poor beast had badly hurt his shoulder, and for the time was dead lame.
'For an hour at least I hunted, for my pistol. It was much more to me than my hat. It was a huge horse pistol, that threw an ounce ball of exactly the calibre of my double rifle. I had shot several buffaloes with it, by riding close to them in a chase; and when in danger of Indians I loaded it with slugs. At last I found it. It was getting late; and I didn't rightly know where I was. I made for the low country.
But as we camped last night at least two miles from the river, on account of the swamps, the difficulty was to find the tracks. The poor little grey and I hunted for it in vain. The wet ground was too wet, the dry ground too hard, to show the tracks in the now imperfect light.
