I fired my other pistol, and the buffalo shrank as the ball struck just
behind the long hair on his shoulders. I was under such headway when I
fired, that I was obliged to pass the animal, cutting across close to
his head, and then again dropping behind. At that moment I lost my
rifle, and I had nothing left but my bow and arrows; but by this time I
had become so much excited by the chase, that I could not think of
giving it up. Still at full speed, I strung my bow, once more put my
spurs to my horse, he flew by the buffalo's right side, and I buried my
arrow deep into his ribs.
The animal was now frothing and foaming with rage and pain. His eyes
were like two deep red balls of fire, his tongue was out and curling
upwards, his long tufted tail curled on high, or lashing madly against
his sides. A more wild, and at the same time a more magnificent picture
of desperation I had never witnessed.
By this time my horse was completely subjected to my guidance. He no
longer pricked his ears with fear, or sheered off as I approached the
monster, but, on the contrary, ran directly up, so that I could almost
touch the animal while bending my bow. I had five or six more arrows
left, but I resolved not to shoot again unless I were certain of
touching a vital part, and succeeded at last in hitting him deep betwixt
the shoulder and the ribs.
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