"That will be great," said Jack; "of course I'd rather chase them, but then, as you said to-day, we ain't out here for fun, and I don't suppose it would be good sense to run Pawnee down, chasing buffalo. He's been travelling all day, and it wouldn't do him any good to give him a race now."
"That's good sense, son. Take care of your horse, and take care of your gun, always, in this country. When we get to the Piegan camp there'll be a whole lot of chances to run buffalo, and to run 'em with a fresh horse. It would be just foolishness to do it now. Come on." Hugh led the way down the hill to the horses, and bringing the animals a little higher up the hill and so out of sight, they crept over to a shoulder, from which they could plainly see the buffalo trail passing only forty yards distant. They had not sat there long when Hugh touched Jack, and motioned with his head, and, as he looked, Jack saw one buffalo after another come in sight around the point of the bluff until twelve were visible. "It's a little bunch of cows," said Hugh, in a low voice, "and five of 'em have got calves. There's two heifers, and one of those you want to kill. Take the last one, or else the one that's third from the end; they're the two heifers, and they'll be fat, and first-class meat. Take notice of these cows; you'll see their horns are slim and turned in. A bull's horns are a great deal stouter, and don't turn in near so much. Now, pick your animal, and get ready, and when she's opposite to us, shoot. Try not to kill one of the old cows; she won't be half as good meat as the heifer."
Jack lay there and watched, and his heart was beating fast, as the buffalo approached. They seemed to walk slowly and heavily, kicking up a good deal of dust, their beards almost sweeping the ground. The little calves, to Jack's great surprise, were reddish in colour, and seemed to have no hump at all. In fact, they looked like little red farm calves. They were strong and active, and seemed to be very playful, sometimes running short races, away from the trail, and again coming back and falling into the line behind their mothers. Though to the eye the buffalo seemed ponderous and slow, it took them but a little time to get up opposite where Jack sat. When they had done so he settled himself and began to aim, and Hugh said, "Remember now, low down, and a leetle bit ahead of where you want to hit; they're moving, you know." Jack fired, and all the buffalo stopped and looked about them. "Did I hit her?" said Jack. "I think I must have."
"Yes," said Hugh, "you hit her, and you hit her right. She'll be down in a minute, and then I think the others will go on."
In a moment or two the heifer at which Jack had fired walked slowly out of the trail, and lay down, and the other buffalo, after looking about, started on, and in a few moments had disappeared behind another rise of ground.
"Well," said Hugh, "let's go and get the horses, I expect likely she'll be dead by the time we get to her." Jack was trembling a little when he rose and followed Hugh, but by the time he was in the saddle he had cooled down again. They rode toward the heifer, which had fallen over on her side and was moving still—not quite dead. Jack was about to ride up to her, when Hugh said, "Hold on! Wait a little; give her a chance to die." They dismounted at a little distance from the animal, and walked around to her head, but still fifteen or twenty yards distant.
"Now, I have often told you," said Hugh, "not to go up to an animal without a load in your gun, and I'll tell you now, never to go up to a buffalo unless you're sure it's dead. I was hunting once with a partner, trying to get some meat to take into the railroad, and we shot three or four buffalo from a stand, and then went down and drove the others off, and started in to butcher. There was one cow that was moving a little, and my partner went up to her to cut her throat, and when he had nearly got to her, she jumped up and ran against him, and threw up her head, and then fell down dead, and when I got to him I found that one horn had split him open from the waist to the throat, and he died while I stood looking at him. That's always made me feel scared of a wounded buffalo. That cow keeps on moving. Just fire a shot into her head, just in front of the horns, and above the eyes." Jack did so, and the cow stretched out her legs and lay still. "Lots of people will tell you," said Hugh, "that you can't kill a buffalo by shooting it in the forehead. They say that the skull's so thick, and the hide and the hair makes such a mat that a ball won't go into it. Don't you ever believe them. If you shoot a buffalo in the forehead, and aim your gun right, so's to hit its brain, you kill it every time."
They took as much of the meat of the heifer as their horses could carry, and returned to camp.