“Are those really buffalo?”
“Shoot!”
“Conductor! Stop the train!”
Bang! Bangity-bang! Bang! Bang! Everybody who could get a glimpse poked his gun out of a window and fired. Two big buffalo bulls were racing the train; heads down, tails up, trying to cross in front of it. The rain of bullets had not touched them. One crossed; but the other suddenly whirled on the track and charged the engine. The cow-catcher lifted him high—Davy had sight of his great shaggy shape turning a somersault in the air, and funny enough he looked, too, with mane and tail flying. He landed with a thump; people laughed so that they forgot to shoot again until too late; and gazing back Davy was glad to witness him scramble to his feet, shake himself, and glare after the train and bellow defiance.
It struck Dave as rather of a shame to pepper the buffalo from the windows of a moving train—which, he heard, sometimes did not even stop to make use of the meat, but left the carcasses lying for the wolves. Dusk soon settled, so that there was little more shooting. With a stop for water and supper, on through the darkness rumbled the train. The passengers slept in their seats—an uncomfortable way, but they did not mind. Judging from the looks of Forts Harker and Hays, which were merely log cabins with sod roofs, the cars were the best place.
The talk among the passengers was mainly of buffalo and of the Indians (who had been fighting the advance of the railroad through their hunting-grounds), and of the match between Buffalo Bill Cody and Scout Will Comstock.
As for Will Comstock, the people said that he was a young fellow with the figure of a mere boy and the face of a girl—but that no braver scout ever rode the plains. However, Billy Cody seemed to have the majority. He had been making a great record since the war. He had driven stage for a little while on the Overland Trail; then he had married; and soon he was scouting again for the army on the Smoky Hill Trail. He had guided General Custer on a dangerous trip out of Fort Harker, and had been guide and dispatch bearer out of Fort Hays, and nobody except Wild Bill (who was a scout on this line, too) was thought to be quite his equal.
Almost as famous as Buffalo Bill were his buffalo horse, Brigham, and his rifle, Lucretia; against these three Billy Comstock, good as he was, did not stand much show.
It was a jolly excursion crowd this: soldiers and civilians, city people and country people, residents and tourists, men, women and some children, all packed tight and bent on seeing the “big match” advertised to take place between Buffalo Bill Cody and Will Comstock, the other famous scout.
Early in the morning the tracks ended about twenty miles this side of Sheridan. And here, on the open prairie, were gathered an astonishing amount of vehicles, animals and horsemen. The spot looked like a land opening—or a picnic. Davy recognized Billy Cody at once.