The Hunters of the Ozark

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

From what has been said, it will be understood that Fred Linden knew much more about buffaloes than did his companion. [The proper name is bison: the genuine buffalo is not found in America.] As he had said, this was not the first time he had hunted them, but with Terry Clark it was different. He had spent a good deal of his time in the woods and had gone in quest of wolves, bears and deer, but he had never brought down one of the lumbering animals for whose flesh he now yearned with a yearning that only the most ravening hunger can inspire.

Terry had formed a deep plot during the short conversation. He did not know the best manner in which to shoot a buffalo and he was too proud to ask instruction. He encouraged the scheme, therefore, of Fred making the first shot. That would give him a chance to see how it was done, so that when he came to exhibit his skill, he would make no mistake.

Although up to this time the animals had not shown that they cared a straw for the two beings who stood so near and were looking at them with loaded guns in their hands, yet they were liable to become stampeded at any moment. A snort and jump by a single animal were likely to set the whole drove on a dead run, in which all hope of a breakfast on buffalo steaks would be gone for that morning at least.

So, as a matter of prudence, Terry stayed where he was, but partly sheltered himself, so as not to startle any one of the animals that might come upon him suddenly. At the same time, Fred bent low and with loaded and cocked rifle began stealing toward the nearest buffalo.

As it happened this was a cow in fine condition. She was plucking a ribbon of grass that followed the edge of prairie. By some chemistry of shadow and sunshine, there was this little strip of unusually tender herbage, which the cow was eating in her quick, vigorous way, as though afraid that some of her companions would find and take it from her.

Fred singled out this one as his prize. Being so close to the wood, he could not have wanted a better chance to steal up to her. Indeed he had but to stand still, for she was coming a regular half step at a time as she clipped the grass in front of her; but the youth's hunger would not allow him to wait the few minutes that would have been required.

When within fifty feet of the cow, Fred knelt on one knee and brought his rifle to a level. The cow was still advancing, "head on," when he made a noise similar to that which comes natural to you when you wish to drive the hens out of your garden-patch. The cow stopped abruptly, threw up her head and stared at the hunter. The sight of the crouching figure must have suggested to the stupid animal that every thing was not right, for with a frightened whiff, she bounded short around with the intention of joining the other animals.

At the very moment she turned, Fred Linden fired, sending the bullet directly back of her fore leg, where it tore its way through flesh, muscles, bones and the heart, the battered bullet humming off through the air on the other side.

No shot could have been more effective. The cow made a couple of wild leaps and then lunged forward, her nose striking the earth with such force that her head doubled under her and she swung over on her back and side with a violence that made it seem as if she had fallen down a high precipice.

Following his old rule, Fred loaded his gun where he stood, before moving out to examine his prize. It was at this juncture that a stampede of the whole drove was due. Now that the boys had secured their breakfast they would not have cared had the animals thundered off out of sight.