hey
fell in with the buffalo. Before we pursue the narrative of Kit
Carson's life we must redeem our promise and allow Col. Fremont to
describe his own impressions in his first Buffalo Hunt, in which Kit
Carson and Mr. L. Maxwell were his companions and guides. Col. Fremont
says:

"A few miles brought us into the midst of the buffalo, swarming in
immense numbers over the plains, where they had left scarcely a blade
of grass standing. Mr. Preuss, who was sketching at a little distance
in the rear, had at first noted them as large groves of timber. In the
sight of such a mass of life, the traveler feels a strange emotion of
grandeur. We had heard from a distance a dull and confused murmuring,
and, when we came in view of their dark masses, there was not one
among us who did not feel his heart beat quicker. It was the early
part of the day, when the herds are feeding; and everywhere they were
in motion. Here and there a huge old bull was rolling in the grass,
and clouds of dust rose in the air from various parts of the bands,
each the scene of some obstinate fight. Indians and buffalo make
the poetry and life of the prairie, and our camp was full of their
exhilaration. In place of the quiet monotony of the march, relieved
only by the cracking of the whip, and an '_avance donc! enfant de
garce!_' shouts and songs resounded from every part of the line,
and our evening camp was always the commencement of a feast, which
terminated only with our departure on the following morning. At
any time of the night might be seen pieces of the most delicate and
choicest meat, roasting _en appolas_, on sticks around the fire, and
the guard were never without company. With pleasant weather and
no enemy to fear, and abundance of the most excellent meat, and
no scarcity of bread or tobacco, they were enjoying the oasis of a
voyageur's life. Three cows were killed today. Kit Carson had shot
one, and was continuing the chase in the midst of another herd, when
his horse fell headlong, but sprang up and joined the flying band.
Though considerably hurt, he had the good fortune to break no bones;
and Maxwell, who was mounted on a fleet hunter, captured the runaway
after a hard chase. He was on the point of shooting him, to avoid the
loss of his bridle (a handsomely mounted Spanish one), when he found
that his horse was able to come up with him. Animals are frequently
lost in this way; and it is necessary to keep close watch over them,
in the vici