A breathing space was now allowed us, and each loaded his piece as fast as he was able. There was no time lost in firing, for the stream of living creatures swept on continuously, and a mark was found in a single glance of the eye.
I think we must have continued the loading and firing for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then the great herd began to grow thinner and thinner, until the last buffalo had passed.
We now looked around us to contemplate the result. The ground on every side of the circle was covered with dark hirsute forms, but upon that where we stood a perfect mass of them lay together. These forms were in every attitude, some stretched on their sides, others upon their knees, and still a number upon their feet, but evidently wounded.
Some of us were about to rush out of our charmed circle to complete the work, but were held back by the warning voices of the guides.
“For yur lives don’t go,” cried Redwood, “don’t stir from hyur till we’ve knocked ’em all over. Thur’s some o’ them with life enough left to do for a ween o’ ye yet.”
So saying, the trapper raised his long piece, selected one of the bulls that were seen on their feet, and sent him rolling over.
Another and another was disposed of in the same way, and then those that were in a kneeling position were reconnoitred to see if they were still alive, and when found to be so were speedily disposed of by a bullet.
When all were laid out we emerged from our hole, and counted the game. There were no less than twenty-five dead immediately around the circle, besides several wounded that we could see straggling off over the plain.
We did not think of going to rest again until each of us had eaten about two pounds of fresh buffalo-beef, and what with the excitement of this odd adventure, and the jokes that followed—not a few of them levelled at our quondam guard—it was near morning before we closed our eyes again in sleep.