Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail / Being the story of how boy and man worked hard and played hard to blaze the white trail, by wagon train, stage coach and pony express, across the great plains and the mountains beyond, that the American republic might expand and flourish

by Edwin L. Sabin

[“GIVE IT TO THEM! SPLIT ’EM! SPLIT ’EM!”]

“Now’s your chance, Left-over,” exclaimed Dave, levelling his revolver.

The Reverend waved his broad hat and shouted lustily.

“Bang!” spoke Billy’s yager. Davy pointed his revolver at the nearest buffalo and pulled trigger. He dimly saw the huge creature plunge forward to its knees, but he did not wait to see more; he only pulled trigger as fast as he could right into the faces of the pelting herd. He had a vague vision of bulging eyes and lolling red tongues, and short horns and tangled foreheads and lunging shoulders, and ever the dark, panting mass flowed past.

Suddenly a tremendous report in his ear well-nigh deafened him, and Left-over yelped loudly, crying, “I got him! I got him!”

“Hooray!” screamed the Reverend, choking with glee, and laughing so that he doubled and swayed.

Left-over was on his back, heels high, gun waving. He sat up, pulled trigger, and over he went again, kicked flat by the heavy Sharp’s. At every shot he yelped, sprawled backward, sat up, shot, and yelped again.

Davy’s revolver was emptied, and he had space to watch. Now Left-over’s gun was empty, too; and dusty and perspiring and wild-eyed, he picked himself up.