In a few
minutes we were among the buffaloes.
Alexis first chose to use his pistol. He sent six shots in rapid
succession after one bull, at a distance of only twenty feet, but he
fired wildly, and did no damage whatever. I rode up to his side, and,
his pistol having been emptied, gave him mine. He seized it and fired
six more shots, but not a buffalo fell.
I saw that he was pretty sure to come home empty-handed if he continued
this sort of pistol practice. So I gave him my old "Lucretia" and told
him to urge his horse close to the buffaloes, and not to shoot till I
gave him the word. At the same time I gave Buckskin Joe a cut with my
whip which sent him at a furious gallop to within ten feet of one of
the biggest bulls in the herd.
"Now is your time," I shouted to Alexis. He fired, and down went the
buffalo. Then, to my amazement, he dropped his gun, waved his hat in
the air, and began talking to members of his suite in his native
tongue, which I of course was totally unable to understand. Old
Buckskin Joe was standing behind the horse that I was riding,
apparently quite as much astonished as I was at this singular conduct
of a man he had accepted in good faith as a buffalo hunter.
There was no more hunting for the Grand Duke just then. The pride of
his achievement had paralyzed any further activity as a Nimrod in him.
Presently General Sheridan came riding up, and the ambulances were
gathered round.
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