American Bison.

As civilization encroached upon the plains Buffalo Jones ranged
slowly westward; and to-day an isolated desert-bound plateau on
the north rim of the Grand Canyon of Arizona is his home. There
his buffalo browse with the mustang and deer, and are as free as
ever they were on the rolling plains.

In the spring of 1907 I was the fortunate companion of the old
plainsman on a trip across the desert, and a hunt in that
wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canyons and giant pines.
I want to tell about it. I want to show the color and beauty of
those painted cliffs and the long, brown-matted bluebell-dotted
aisles in the grand forests; I want to give a suggestion of the
tang of the dry, cool air; and particularly I want to throw a
little light upon the life and nature of that strange character
and remarkable man, Buffalo Jones.

Happily in remembrance a writer can live over his experiences,
and see once more the moonblanched silver mountain peaks against
the dark blue sky; hear the lonely sough of the night wind
through the pines; feel the dance of wild expectation in the
quivering pulse; the stir, the thrill, the joy of hard action in
perilous moments; the mystery of man's yearning for the
unattainable.

As a boy I read of Boone with a throbbing heart, and the silent
moccasined, vengeful Wetzel I loved.

I pored over the deeds of later men--Custer and Carson, those