It proved a good drink on a Kansas prairie, and a
buffalo hunter proved an excellent man to dispose of it.
While we were resting we espied another herd approaching. It was a
small drove, but we prepared to make it serve our purpose. The
buffaloes were cows and calves, quicker in their movements than the
bulls. We charged in among them, and I got eighteen to Comstock's
fourteen.
Again the spectators approached, and once more the champagne went
round. After a luncheon we resumed the hunt. Three miles distant we saw
another herd. I was so far ahead of my competitor now that I thought I
could afford to give an exhibition of my skill. Leaving my saddle and
bridle behind, I rode, with my competitor, to windward of the
buffaloes.
I soon had thirteen down, the last one of which I had driven close to
the wagons, where the ladies were watching the contest. It frightened
some of the tender creatures to see a buffalo coming at full speed
directly toward them, but I dropped him in his tracks before he had got
within fifty yards of the wagon. This finished my "run" with a score of
sixty-nine buffaloes for the day. Comstock had killed forty-six.
It was now late in the afternoon. Comstock and his backers gave up the
idea of beating me. The referee declared me the winner of the match,
and the champion buffalo hunter of the Plains.
On our return to camp we brought with us the best bits of meat, as well
as the biggest and best buffalo heads.
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