Cody had seen looking
over the town site from every possible angle. He told me he thought I
had selected a good town site--and I agreed with him. He asked me to go
for a ride around the surrounding country with him the next day. I told
him I was going on a buffalo hunt. He had never killed a buffalo, he
said. He wanted to get a fine head to take back with him, and would be
grateful if I would take him with me. I promised to see that he got a
nice head if he came along, and early the next morning rode down to his
hotel. He was dressed in a smart hunting costume and had his rifle. We
started for the plains, my wagons following to gather up the meat we
should kill.
As we rode out I explained to him how I hunted. "I kill as many buffalo
as I want," I said. "This I call a 'run.' The wagons come along
afterward and the butchers cut the meat and load it." When I went out
on my "run" I told him where to shoot to kill. But when my work was
done I met him coming back crestfallen. He had failed to get his
buffalo down, although he had shot him three times.
"Come along with me," I said. "I see another herd over there. I am
going to change saddles with you and let you ride the best buffalo
horse on the Plains."
He was astonished and delighted to think I would let him ride Brigham,
the most famous buffalo horse in the West. When we drew near the herd I
pointed out a fine four-year-old bull with a splendid head.
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