While most of the deaths which occurred in the chase resulted from
causes other than the resistance of the buffalo, these did occasionally
kill a man. A curious accident happened in a camp of Red River
half-breeds in the early seventies. The son of an Iroquois half-breed,
about twenty years old, went out one day with the rest of the camp to
run buffalo. At night he did not return, and the next day all the men
went out to search for him. They found the horse and the arms, but could
not find the man, and could not imagine what had become of him. About a
year later, as the half-breeds were hunting in another part of the
country, a cow was seen which had something unusual on her head. They
chased and killed her, and found that she had on her head the pelvis of
a man, one of the horns having pierced the thin part of the bone, which
was wedged on so tightly that they could hardly get it off. Much of the
hair on the head, neck, and shoulders of the cow was worn off short, and
on the side on which the bone was, down on the neck and shoulders, the
hair was short, black, and looked new, as if it had been worn entirely
off the skin, and was just beginning to grow out again. It is supposed
that this bone was part of the missing young man, who had been hooked by
the cow, and carried about on her head until his body fell to pieces.
My old and valued friend Charles Reynolds, for years chief of scouts at
Fort Lincoln, Dakota, and who was killed by the Sioux in the Custer
fight in 1876, told me of the death of a hunting partner of his, which
shows how dangerous even a dying buffalo may be. The two men had started
from the railroad to go south and bring in a load of meat. On finding a
bunch of buffalo, they shot down by stalking what they required, and
then on foot went up to the animals to skin them. One cow, lying on her
side, was still moving a little convulsively, but dying. The man
approached her as if about to cut her throat, but when he was within a
few feet of her head, she sprang to her feet, rushed at him, struck him
in the chest with her horns, and then fell dead. Charley ran up to his
partner, and to his horror saw that the cow's horn had ripped him up
from the belly to the throat, so that he could see the heart still
expanding and contracting.
Charley buried his partner there, and returning to the town, told his
story. He was at once arrested on the charge that he had murdered his
companion, and was obliged to return to the place and to assist in
digging up the body to satisfy the suspicious officials of the truth of
his statements.
In the early days, when the game was plenty, buffalo-running was
exhilarating sport. Given a good horse, the only other requisite to
success was the ability to remain on his back till the end of the chase.
No greater degree of skill was needed than this, and yet the quick
motion of the horse, the rough ground to be traversed, and the feeling
that there was something ahead that must be overtaken and stopped, made
the ride attractive. There was the very slightest spice of danger; for
while no one anticipated a serious accident, it was always possible that
one's horse might step into a badger-hole, in which case his rider would
get a fall that would make his bones ache.
The most exciting, and by far the most interesting, hunts in which I
ever took part were those with the Indians of the plains. They were
conducted almost noiselessly, and no ring of rifle-shot broke the
stillness of the air, nor puff of smoke rose toward the still, gray
autumn sky. The consummate grace and skill of the naked Indians, and the
speed and quickness of their splendid ponies, were well displayed in
such chases as these. More than one instance is recorded where an
Indian sent an arrow entirely through the bodies of two buffalo.
Sometimes such a hunt was signalized by some feat of daring bravado
that, save in the seeing, was scarcely credible, as when the Cheyenne
Big Ribs rode his horse close up to the side of a huge bull, and,
springing on his back, rode the savage beast for some distance, and then
with his knife gave him the death-stroke. Or a man might find himself in
a position of comical danger, as did "The Trader" who was thrown from
his horse on to the horns of a bull without being injured. One of the
horns passed under his belt and supported him, and at the same time
prevented the bull from tossing him. In this way he was carried for some
distance on the animal's head, when the belt gave way and he fell to the
ground unhurt, while the bull ran on. There were occasions when buffalo
or horses fell in front of horsemen riding at full run, and when a fall
was avoided only by leaping one's horse over the fallen animal. In the
buffalo chase of old days it was well for a man to keep his wits about
him; for, though he might run buffalo a thousand times without
accident, the moment might come when only instant action would save him
his life, or at least an ugly hurt.
In the early days of the first Pacific Railroad, and before the herds
had been driven back from the track, singular hunting-parties were
sometimes seen on the buffalo range. These hunters were capitalists
connected with the newly constructed road, and some of them now for the
first time bestrode a horse, while few had ever used firearms. On such a
hunt, one well-known railroad director, eager to kill a buffalo,
declined to trust himself on horseback, preferring to bounce over the
rough prairie in an ambulance driven by an alarmed soldier, who gave
less attention to the mules he was guiding than to the loaded and cocked
pistol which his excited passenger was brandishing. These were amusing
excursions, where a merry party of pleasant officers from a frontier
post, and their guests, a jolly crowd of merchants, brokers, and
railroad men from the East, started out to have a buffalo-hunt. With
them went the post guide and a scout or two, an escort of soldiers, and
the great blue army-wagons, under whose white tilts were piled all the
comforts that the post could furnish--unlimited food and drink, and many
sacks of forage for the animals. Here all was mirth and jest and
good-fellowship, and, except that canvas covered them while they slept,
the hunters lived in as much comfort as when at home. The killing of
buffalo was to them only an excuse for their jolly outing amid novel
scenes.
It was on the plains of Montana, in the days when buffalo were still
abundant, that I had one of my last buffalo-hunts--a hunt with a serious
purpose. A company of fifty or more men, who for weeks had been living
on bacon and beans, longed for the "boss ribs" of fat cow, and when we
struck the buffalo range two of us were deputed to kill some meat. My
companion was an old prairie-man of great experience, and I myself was
not altogether new to the West, for I had hunted in many territories,
and had more than once been "jumped" by hostile Indians. Our horses were
not buffalo-runners, yet we felt a certain confidence that if we could
find a bunch and get a good start on them, we would bring in the
desired meat. The troops would march during the day, for the commanding
officer had no notion of waiting in camp merely for fresh meat, and we
were to go out, hunt, and overtake the command at their night's camp.
The next day after we had reached the buffalo range, we started out long
before the eastern sky was gray, and were soon riding off over the
chilly prairie. The trail which the command was to follow ran a little
north of east, and we kept to the south and away from it, believing that
in this direction we would find the game, and that if we started them
they would run north or northwest--against the wind, so that we could
kill them near the trail. Until some time after the sun had risen, we
saw nothing larger than antelope; but at length, from the top of a high
hill, we could see, far away to the east, dark dots on the prairie,
which we knew could only be buffalo. They were undisturbed too; for,
though we watched them for some time, we could detect no motion in their
ranks.
It took us nearly two hours to reach the low, broken buttes on the north
side of which the buffalo were; and, riding up on the easternmost of
these, we tried to locate our game more exactly. It was important to get
as close as possible before starting them, so that our first rush might
carry us into the midst of them. Knowing the capabilities of our horses,
which were thin from long travel, we felt sure that if the buffalo
should take the alarm before we were close to them, we could not
overtake the cows and young animals, which always run in the van, and
should have to content ourselves with old bulls. On the other hand, if
we could dash in among them during the first few hundred yards of the
race, we should be able to keep up with and select the fattest animals
in the herd.
When we reached a point just below the crest of the hill, I stopped and
waited, while my companion rode on. Just before he got to the top he too
halted, then took off his hat and peered over the ridge, examining so
much of the prairie beyond as was now visible to him. His inspection was
careful and thorough, and when he had made sure that nothing was in
sight, his horse took a step or two forward and then stopped again, and
the rider scanned every foot of country before him. The horse, trained
as the real hunter's horse is always trained, understood what was
required of him, and with pricked ears examined the prairie beyond with
as much interest as did his rider. When the calf of Charley's right leg
pressed the horse's side, two or three steps more were taken, and then a
lifting of the bridle-hand caused another halt.
At length I saw my companion slowly bend forward over his horse's neck,
turn, and ride back to me. He had seen the backs of two buffalo lying on
the edge of a little flat hardly a quarter of a mile from where we
stood. The others of the band must be still nearer to us. By riding
along the lowest part of the sag which separated the two buttes, and
then down a little ravine, it seemed probable that we could come within
a few yards of the buffalo unobserved. Our preparations did not take
long. The saddle cinches were loosened, blankets arranged, saddles put
in their proper places and tightly cinched again. Cartridges were
brought round to the front and right of the belt, where they would be
convenient for reloading. Our coats, tied behind the saddle, were looked
to, the strings which held them being tightened and securely retied. All
this was not lost on our horses, which understood as well as we did what
was coming. We skirted the butte, rode through the low sag and down into
the little ravine, which soon grew deeper, so that our heads were below
the range of vision of almost anything on the butte. Passing the mouth
of the little side ravine, however, there came into full view a huge
bull, lying well up on the hillside. Luckily his back was toward us,
and, each bending low over his horse's neck, we rode on, and in a moment
were hidden by the side of the ravine. Two or three minutes more, and we
came to another side ravine, which was wide and commanded a view of the
flat. We stopped before reaching this, and a peep showed that we were
within a few yards of two old cows, a young heifer, and a yearling, all
of them to the north of us. Beyond, we could see the backs of others,
all lying down.
We jumped on our horses again, and setting the spurs well in, galloped
up the ravine and up on the flat; and as we came into view, the nearest
buffalo, as if propelled by a huge spring, were on their feet, and, with
a second's pause to look, dashed away to the north. Scattered over the
flat were fifty or seventy-five buffalo, all of which, by the time we
had glanced over the field, were off, with heads bending low to the
ground, and short, spiky tails stretched out behind. We were up even
with the last of the cows, and our horses were running easily and seemed
to have plenty of reserve power. Charley, who was a little ahead of me,
called back: "They will cross the trail about a mile north of here. Kill
a couple when we get to it." I nodded, and we went on. The herd raced
forward over the rolling hills, and in what seemed a very short time we
rushed down a long slope on to a wide flat, in which was a prairie-dog
town of considerable extent. We were on the very heels of the herd, and
in a cloud of dust kicked up by their rapid flight. To see the ground
ahead was impossible. We could only trust to our horses and our good
luck to save us from falling. Our animals were doing better than we had
supposed they could, and were going well and under a pull. I felt that a
touch of the spurs and a little riding would bring us up even with the
leaders of the buffalo. The pace had already proved too much for several
bulls, which had turned off to one side and been passed by. As we flew
across the flat, I saw far off a dark line and two white objects, which
I knew must be our command. I called to my comrade, and, questioning by
the sign, pointed at the buffalo. He nodded, and in a moment we had
given free rein to our horses and were up among the herd. During the
ride I had two or three times selected my game, but the individuals of
the band changed positions so constantly that I could not keep track of
them. Now, however, I picked out a fat two-year-old bull; but as I drew
up to him he ran faster than before, and rapidly made his way toward the
head of the band. I was resolved that he should not escape, and so,
though I was still fifteen or twenty yards in the rear, fired. At the
shot he fell heels over head directly across a cow which was running by
his side and a little behind him. I saw her turn a somersault, and
almost at the same instant heard Charley shoot twice in quick
succession, and saw two buffalo fall. I fired at a fat young cow that I
had pushed my pony up close to. At the shot she whirled, my horse did
the same, and she chased me as hard as she could go for seventy-five
yards, while I did some exceedingly vigorous spurring, for she was close
behind me all the time. To do my horse justice, I think that he would
have run as fast as he could, even without the spurs, for he appreciated
the situation. At no time was there any immediate danger that the cow
would overtake us; if there had been, I should have dodged her.
Presently the cow stopped, and stood there very sick. When I rode back,
I did not find it easy to get my horse near her; but another shot was
not needed, and while I sat looking at her she fell over dead. The three
buffalo first killed had fallen within a hundred yards of the trail
where the wagons afterward passed, and my cow was but little farther
away. The command soon came up, the soldiers did the butchering, and
before long we were on the march again across the parched plain.
Of the millions of buffalo which even in our own time ranged the plains
in freedom, none now remain. From the prairies which they used to
darken, the wild herds, down to the last straggling bull, have
disappeared. In the Yellowstone National Park, protected from
destruction by United States troops, are the only wild buffalo which
exist within the borders of the United States. These are mountain
buffalo, and, from their habit of living in the thick timber and on the
rough mountain-sides, they are only now and then seen by visitors to the
park. It is impossible to say just how many there are, but from the best
information that I can get, based on the estimates of reliable and
conservative men, I conclude that the number was not less than four
hundred in the winter of 1891-92. Each winter or spring the government
scout employed in the park sees one or more herds of these buffalo, and
as such herds are usually made up in part of young animals and have
calves with them, it is fair to assume that they are steadily, if
slowly, increasing. The report of a trip made in January, 1892, speaks
of four herds seen in the Hayden Valley, which numbered respectively
78, 50, 110, and 15. Besides these, a number of scattering groups were
seen at a distance, which would bring the number up to three hundred.
In the far northwest, in the Peace River district, there may still be
found a few wood buffalo. They are seldom killed, and the estimate of
their numbers varies from five hundred to fifteen hundred. This cannot
be other than the merest guess, since they are scattered over many
thousand square miles of territory which is without inhabitants, and for
the most part unexplored.
On the great plains is still found the buffalo skull half buried in the
soil and crumbling to decay. The deep trails once trodden by the
marching hosts are grass-grown now, and fast filling up. When these most
enduring relics of a vanished race shall have passed away, there will be
found, in all the limitless domain once darkened by their feeding herds,
not one trace of the American buffalo.
_George Bird Grinnell._