The buffalo, once the king of the prairies, has been practically
exterminated. Perhaps no greater grief has ever entered into the life of
the Indian than this wilful waste and irreparable loss. To this hour the
Indian mourns the going away of the buffalo. He cannot be reconciled. He
dates every joyful and profitable event in his life to the days of the
buffalo. In the assembly of chiefs at the last Great Council the buffalo
was the burden of every reminiscence. These veteran chiefs studied with
melancholy eyes the old buffalo trails, and in contemplation of the days
of the chase they said, as they thought backward, “My heart is lonely and
my spirit cries.” So much did they love the buffalo that the Indian
children played hunting the buffalo. The animal furnished food and
clothing, and many parts of the stalwart frame they counted as sacred.
The annihilation of these vast herds aroused the darkest passions in the
heart of the Indian, and many times stirred his war spirit and sent him
forth to do battle against the aggressors. Within the nine years between
1874 and 1883 over eight millions of buffalo were ruthlessly slain. But
the war curtain of the Indian has been rung down, and the vast area which
twoscore years ago supported these vast herds of wild game is covered
to-day with domestic animals and teems with agricultural life, furnishing
food supplies for millions upon millions all over the civilized world.
[Buffalo Thundered Across the Plains]