appearance was natural; for at that time the Comanches were a scourge to
the Buffalo-hunters, ambushing them and raiding their camps; and several
bloody fights had taken place.

Their camp had been pitched near a deep pool or water-hole. On both
sides the bluffs rose like walls, and where they had crumbled and lost
their sheerness, the vast buffalo herds, passing and repassing for
countless generations, had worn furrowed trails so deep that the backs
of the beasts were but little above the surrounding soil. In the
bottom, and in places along the crests of the cliffs that hemmed in
the canyon-like valley, there were groves of tangled trees, tenanted by
great flocks of wild turkeys. Once my brother made two really remarkable
shots at a pair of these great birds. It was at dusk, and they were
flying directly overhead from one cliff to the other. He had in his hand
a thirty-eight calibre Ballard rifle, and, as the gobblers winged their
way heavily by, he brought both down with two successive bullets. This
was of course mainly a piece of mere luck; but it meant good shooting,
too. The Ballard was a very accurate, handy little weapon; it belonged
to me, and was the first rifle I ever owned or used. With it I had once
killed a deer, the only specimen of large game I had then shot; and I
presented the rifle to my brother when he went to Texas. In our happy
ignorance we deemed it quite good enough for Buffalo or anything else;
but out on the plains my brother soon found himself forced to procure a
heavier and more deadly weapon.

When camp was pitched the horses were turned loose to graze and refresh
themselves after their trying journey, during which they had lost flesh
woefully. They were watched and tended by the two men who were always
left in camp, and, save on rare occasions, were only used to haul in the
buffalo hides. The camp-guards for the time being acted as cooks; and,