I had myself crouched down in a thick tuft of grass, upon one of the thousand swells of the prairie. It chanced that a buffalo of the largest size, straying a little from his companions, was coming directly towards the spot where I lay. He soon came near, and I could see his curly pate and the glistening of his eye. He came slowly, but steadily on. I had a rifle in my hand, but such was my amazement that I never thought of using it. I remained crouched upon one knee until the animal was within six feet of me.
It is impossible to describe the consternation depicted in the brute’s countenance when he first saw me. He paused for a moment; his eyeballs stood out, his nostrils expanded, and the long stiff hair upon his neck stood erect. After glaring at me for a few seconds, the creature lifted his tail into the air, and sped away with a prodigious gallop.
He had proceeded but a few rods, however, before I heard the report of a rifle, and the flying buffalo stumbled and fell to the earth, tearing up the soil in the heavy plunge. He, however, rose to his feet, and proceeded, with a staggering gallop, for about a hundred yards. He then paused, and at length stood still. I came forward, supposing that the wound was mortal, and that the creature would soon fall to the earth; but what was my surprise, on coming up with him, to discover three or four wolves standing in front of him, and evidently on the point of making an attack.
Without reflection, I discharged my rifle among them, and killed two of them. The noise directed the attention of the wounded buffalo to me, and he immediately turned upon me. I easily kept out of his way at first; but his speed increased, and I soon found it necessary to exert myself to the utmost for escape. My uncommon speed was now my only hope. The raging beast followed me at long bounds, and I was frequently obliged to throw him off by a short turn to the right or left, in order to escape from the plunge of his horns. I had already begun to grow weary and short of breath, when I heard a loud bellow and a heavy fall to the earth. I looked around, and my pursuer lay dead upon the ground.
After a few moments, my self-possession returned. I loaded my rifle and proceeded toward the scene of action, for my companions were now at their work. I had an opportunity of seeing the manner in which the Indians on horseback attack the buffalo. I chanced to be near one of our bravest huntsmen as he assailed a bull of the largest size. The man was firmly mounted, but he had no other weapons than a bow and a quiver of arrows. The buffalo had perceived the approach of the enemy, and immediately fled at full gallop.
The hunter pursued, and, speedily coming up with the animal, he drew his arrow to the head, and plunged it between its ribs. It entered more than one half its length, but the buffalo continued its flight. Another and another arrow were speedily discharged, and all of them took effect. The last was almost entirely buried in the flank of the huge beast. Stung with agony, he wheeled suddenly round, and made a fierce plunge at the mounted horseman. The movement was sudden and rapid, but the blow was evaded by a swaying movement to the left. The impulse of the horseman carried him past the animal for a considerable distance, and the latter, apparently incapable of farther exertion, stood still.
His sides were covered with blood, and mingled foam and blood were streaming from his open mouth. He held his head down, his tongue protruded, his eyes stood out, and he shivered in every limb. At the same time, he uttered a low and plaintive bellow. The unrelenting hunter speedily turned his horse back, and again approached his prey. He paused a moment, and seemed to hesitate whether it were needful to spend another arrow; but, after a short space, he placed one upon the string. The bison watched the movement, and, at the instant it sped, uttered a terrible roar, and sprung again toward the horseman. The latter, prepared for the movement, leaped aside, and the exhausted prey rolled, with a crushing sound, to the earth. The last arrow had reached his heart.
I looked over the vast plain, and the countless herd of bisons were now in full flight; plunging, galloping, and bellowing, they swept over the plain. It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the scene. A variety of stunning sounds fell upon the ear, and the earth trembled as if shaken by an earthquake. Yet, amid this scene of confusion, the Indians seemed in their element. Mingling with the crowd of animals, their arrows flew, and their bullets sped. Those who were on foot, and those who were mounted, alike kept up with the flying herd.
Nothing could exceed the fierceness of their looks, or the animation of their actions. Their whole souls engaged in the work of death; their hair streaming in the wind, their eyes gleaming with fiery exultation, and speeding from point to point with incredible swiftness; they had an aspect of wildness, energy, and power, which words alone cannot paint. For my own share in the adventure I can say but little. I had several fair shots, but they were all without success, excepting in one instance. A buffalo calf, toward the latter part of the chase, was passing near, and I brought it down with a single ball.
I must not omit to mention one incident, that particularly attracted my attention in the midst of these scenes. From the moment the attack began, I had noticed several wolves gliding hither and thither, and seeming to watch the progress of the fight. These creatures follow the herds of bisons, and, if one of them becomes sick or wounded, they attack and devour him. They seemed now to be quite aware that something was to be done in their behalf, and, accordingly, gathered in considerable numbers to the place where the attack was about to be made.