destroying the plains buffalo in the Laramie country.

"One of my friends, a most ardent and pertinacious sportsman, determined
on the possession of a bison's head, and, hiring a guide, plunged into
the mountain wilds which separate the Middle from South Park. After
several days fresh tracks were discovered. Turning their horses loose on
a little gorge park, such as described, they started on foot on the
trail; for all that day they toiled and scrambled with the utmost
caution--now up, now down, through deep and narrow gorges and pine
thickets, over bare and rocky crags, sleeping where night overtook them.
Betimes next morning they pushed on the trail, and about 11 o'clock,
when both were exhausted and well-nigh disheartened, their route was
intercepted by a precipice. Looking over, they descried, on a projecting
ledge several hundred feet below, a herd of about 20 bisons lying down.
The ledge was about 300 feet at widest, by probably 1,000 feet long. Its
inner boundary was the wall of rock on the top of which they stood; its
outer appeared to be a sheer precipice of at least 200 feet. This ledge
was connected with the slope of the mountain by a narrow neck. The wind
being right, the hunters succeeded in reaching this neck unobserved. My
friend selected a magnificent head, that of a fine bull, young but full
grown, and both fired. At the report the bisons all ran to the far end
of the ledge and plunged over.

"Terribly disappointed, the hunters ran to the spot, and found that they
had gone down a declivity, not actually a precipice, but so steep that
the hunters could not follow them.

"At the foot lay a bison. A long, a fatiguing detour brought them to the
spot, and in the animal lying dead before him my friend recognized his
bull--his first and last mountain buffalo. Hone but a true sportsman can