Gobbler tumbled over dead when I fired, and
he was so heavy as to be a good load for me to carry to camp.
Now I was filled with confidence in myself, and became eager for a
shot at bigger game; antelope, deer or buffalo.
In a few days we passed Ft. Scott and then we were entirely beyond
the bounds of civilization.
From that on, until we reached our destination, the only living
things we saw were jack-rabbits, prairie-dogs, antelope, deer,
buffalo, sage-hens and Indians, barring, of course, insects,
reptiles and the like, and the little owls that live with the
prairie-dogs and sit upon the mounds of the dog villages, eyeing
affairs with seeming dignity and wisdom.
The owls seem to turn their heads while watching you, their bodies
remaining stationary, until, it has been said, you may wring their
heads off by walking around them a few times. I would not have my
young friends believe, however, that this is true. It is only a
very old joke of the plains.
The first herd of buffalo we saw was along a stream known as Cow
Creek and which is a tributary to the Arkansas river. We could see
the herd feeding along the hills in the distance.
Here was good camping ground and it was time to halt for the
night. So as soon as we had decided on the spot to pitch camp,
Uncle Kit directed me to go and kill a buffalo, so that we might
have fresh meat for supper.
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