So for several minutes I watched the great, clumsy, shaggy beasts, as
all unconscious they grazed in the open glade. Behind them rose the dark
pines. At the left of the glade the ground fell away to form the side of
a chasm; down in its depths the cataracts foamed and thundered; beyond,
the huge mountains towered, their crests crimsoned by the sinking
sun. Mixed with the eager excitement of the hunter was a certain half
melancholy feeling as I gazed on these bison, themselves part of the
last remnant of a doomed and nearly vanished race. Few, indeed, are
the men who now have, or evermore shall have, the chance of seeing the
mightiest of American beasts, in all his wild vigor, surrounded by the
tremendous desolation of his far-off mountain home.

At last, when I had begun to grow very anxious lest the others should
take alarm, the bull likewise appeared on the edge of the glade, and
stood with outstretched head, scratching his throat against a young
tree, which shook violently. I aimed low, behind his shoulder, and
pulled trigger. At the crack of the rifle all the bison, without the
momentary halt of terror-struck surprise so common among game, turned
and raced off at headlong speed. The fringe of young pines beyond and
below the glade cracked and swayed as if a whirlwind were passing, and
in another moment they reached the top of a very steep incline, thickly
strewn with boulders and dead timber. Down this they plunged with
reckless speed; their surefootedness was a marvel in such seemingly
unwieldy beasts. A column of dust obscured their passage, and under
its cover they disappeared in the forest; but the trail of the bull was
marked by splashes of frothy blood, and we followed it at a trot. Fifty
yards beyond the border of the forest we found the stark black body
stretched motionless. He was a splendid old bull, still in his full
vigor, with large, sharp horns, and heavy mane and glossy coat; and I