At that instant a deer bounded up out of the tall grass a hundred yards ahead and went prancing away to the left. Frank caught his rifle from the sling at his saddle bow and sent a bullet through its head.
Early the next morning the hunters came upon fresh buffalo signs, and in the afternoon a few stragglers were seen. One was killed in the evening, and on the creek where they camped that night fresh Indian camp signs were found. A small herd of buffalo came to the creek to drink, a mile below, just after sundown, and various facts indicated that they were near the main herd. All through the next day they were in sight of small bands, and several hunting parties were sighted, some white and some red. The feed was getting scarce, owing to its having been eaten down by the game, and at two o'clock the party camped on Willow creek, a small tributary of the Brazos river. The main herd was yet about ten miles away, but the hunters could not consistently go any nearer for a permanent camp, and decided to make it here. Two white hunters visited them in the evening, and told them that a party of ten Comanches were camped on Turtle creek seven miles further west. At this intelligence Frank's face darkened and his eye gleamed, but he said nothing. Soon after dark, however, he was missing, and did not turn up again till near noon the next day. He had a different horse from the one he rode away; not so good a one, it is true, and there were two bullet holes in his coat. He was reticent and uncommunicative as to where he had been, but wore a very pleased expression on his countenance, and was occasionally seen to smile when not talking with anyone.
NATIVE BUFFALO HUNTERS.
The majority of the hunters mounted and rode southwest early in the morning. Seven men in one party sighted a herd of buffaloes numbering about 200, and dismounting, when within a mile, cached their horses in a coulee, and began a cautious advance.
They found a deep and crooked ravine into which they crawled, and in which they were able to approach to within about 400 yards of the nearest animals. A gentle breeze blew from the game toward the hunters, and taking advantage of the most favorable point, they crawled up the steep bank to where they could command a good view of the game. The "tenderfeet" in the party were in favor of firing a volley, but an old hunter who had led them advised them to fire singly, and at intervals of a minute or two, this plan being much less likely to frighten the game. He cautioned them to take very careful aim, to make every shot count, and to wound as few animals as possible. One slightly wounded animal, he said, would create more uneasiness among the herd than ten dead or fatally wounded ones.
Several of this party were good marksmen, and had good strong-shooting, long-range rifles. Though, they shot heavy charges, yet, the wind in their favor, at this long distance, the animals would scarcely hear the reports. The leader advised them to shoot only at animals broadside, and gave them careful directions as to elevation and where to aim. Evans opened the fire with a sixteen-pound 50-calibre Sharp's. Immediately after the report the emphatic "thud" of the bullet came back and a large cow was seen to drop on her knees, get up again, stagger away a few rods and lie down.
"Good," said the old hunter. "Now, Pete, you go."
"Pete fired, and an old bull whisked his tail, walked sullenly away, turned around a few times, and fell dead. Another complimentary remark from the old hunter, and then he said:
"Now I guess I'll try one."