I dropped flat on the ground and crawled toward her, like a snake.
Once she raised her head, but the wind being in my favor, she did
not discern me, but put her head down and went on feeding. I
succeeded in crawling quite close enough to her, drew a bead on
her and fired. At the crack of the rifle she came to the ground,
"as dead as a door-nail," much to the surprise of Uncle Kit and
Mr. Hughes, who were watching me from a distance.

When the animal fell, I threw my hat in the air and gave a yell
that would have done credit to an Apache warrior.

Uncle Kit and I dressed the buffalo and carried the meat into camp
while Mr. Hughes gathered wood for the night-fires.

I could scarcely sleep that night for thinking of my buffalo, and
could I have seen Henry Becket that night I would almost have
stunned him with my stories of frontier life.

The novice is ever enthusiastic.

The following morning we woke up early, and off, still heading up
the Arkansas river for Bent's Fort, and from here on the buffalo
were numerous, and we had that sort of fresh meat until we got
good and tired of it.

The second day out from Cow Creek, in the afternoon, we saw about
twenty Indians coming towards us. At the word, "Indians," I could
feel my hair raise on end, and many an Indian has tried to raise
it since.