That suited me, exactly, for I was eager to get a shot at such big
game.
Uncle Kit told me to follow up the ravine until opposite the herd
and then climb the hill, but to be careful and not let the buffalo
see me.
I followed his instructions to the dot, for I had come to believe
that what Kit Carson said was law and gospel, and what he didn't
know would not fill a book as large as Ayer's Almanac. I was
right, too, so far as plainscraft was concerned.
Uncle Kit had also directed me to select a small buffalo to shoot
at, and to surely kill it, for we were out of meat.
It so happened that when I got to the top of the hill and in sight
of the herd again the first animal that seemed to present an
advantageous shot was a two-year-old heifer.
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.
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