"Why," said he, "we hold out our hands to them, and give them all we've got; they take away everything, and then I believe they no kill us.Perhaps," added he, looking up with a quiet, unchanged face, "perhaps we no let them rob us.Maybe before they come near, we have a chance to get into a ravine, or under the bank of the river; then, you know, we fight them."About noon on that day we reached Cherry Creek.Here was a great abundance of wild cherries, plums, gooseberries, and currants.The stream, however, like most of the others which we passed, was dried up with the heat, and we had to dig holes in the sand to find water for ourselves and our horses.Two days after, we left the banks of the creek which we had been following for some time, and began to cross the high dividing ridge which separates the waters of the Platte from those of the Arkansas.The scenery was altogether changed.In place of the burning plains we were passing now through rough and savage glens and among hills crowned with a dreary growth of pines.We encamped among these solitudes on the night of the 16th of August.A tempest was threatening.The sun went down among volumes of jet-black cloud, edged with a bloody red.But in spite of these portentous signs, we neglected to put up the tent, and being extremely fatigued, lay down on the ground and fell asleep.The storm broke about midnight, and we erected the tent amid darkness and confusion.In the morning all was fair again, and Pike's Peak, white with snow, was towering above the wilderness afar off.
We pushed through an extensive tract of pine woods.Large black squirrels were leaping among the branches.From the farther edge of this forest we saw the prairie again, hollowed out before us into a vast basin, and about a mile in front we could discern a little black speck moving upon its surface.It could be nothing but a buffalo.
Henry primed his rifle afresh and galloped forward.To the left of the animal was a low rocky mound, of which Henry availed himself in making his approach.After a short time we heard the faint report of the rifle.The bull, mortally wounded from a distance of nearly three hundred yards, ran wildly round and round in a circle.Shaw and I then galloped forward, and passing him as he ran, foaming with rage and pain, we discharged our pistols into his side.Once or twice he rushed furiously upon us, but his strength was rapidly exhausted.Down he fell on his knees.For one instant he glared up at his enemies with burning eyes through his black tangled mane, and then rolled over on his side.Though gaunt and thin, he was larger and heavier than the largest ox.Foam and blood flew together from his nostrils as he lay bellowing and pawing the ground, tearing up grass and earth with his hoofs.His sides rose and fell like a vast pair of bellows, the blood spouting up in jets from the bullet-holes.
Suddenly his glaring eyes became like a lifeless jelly.He lay motionless on the ground.Henry stooped over him, and making an incision with his knife, pronounced the meat too rank and tough for use; so, disappointed in our hopes of an addition to our stock of provisions, we rode away and left the carcass to the wolves.
