dian's arrow before they heard his voice.

A day or two after, we had an adventure of another sort with a party of
wagoners. Henry and I rode forward to hunt. After that day there was
no probability that we should meet with buffalo, and we were anxious to
kill one for the sake of fresh meat. They were so wild that we hunted
all the morning in vain, but at noon as we approached Cow Creek we saw
a large band feeding near its margin. Cow Creek is densely lined with
trees which intercept the view beyond, and it runs, as we afterward
found, at the bottom of a deep trench. We approached by riding along the
bottom of a ravine. When we were near enough, I held the horses while
Henry crept toward the buffalo. I saw him take his seat within shooting
distance, prepare his rifle, and look about to select his victim. The
death of a fat cow was certain, when suddenly a great smoke arose from
the bed of the Creek with a rattling volley of musketry. A score of
long-legged Missourians leaped out from among the trees and ran after
the buffalo, who one and all took to their heels and vanished. These
fellows had crawled up the bed of the Creek to within a hundred yards of
the buffalo. Never was there a fairer chance for a shot. They were good
marksmen; all cracked away at once, and yet not a buffalo fell. In fact,
the animal is so tenacious of life that it requires no little knowledge
of anatomy to kill it, and it is very seldom that a novice succeeds
in his first attempt at approaching. The balked Missourians were
excessively mortified, especially when Henry told them if they had kept
quiet he would have killed meat enough in ten minutes to feed their
whole party. Our friends, who were at no great distance, hearing such a
formidable fusillade, thought the Indians had fired the volley for our
benefit. Shaw came galloping on to reconnoiter and learn if we were yet
in the land of the living.

At Cow Creek we found the very welcome novelty of ripe grapes and plums,
which grew there in abundance. At the Little Arkansas, not much farther
on, we saw the last buffalo, a miserable old bull, roaming over the
prairie alone and melancholy.

From this time forward the character of the country was changing every
day. We had left behind us the great arid deserts, meagerly covered
by the tufted buffalo grass, with its pale green hue, and its short
shriveled blades. The plains before us were carpeted with rich and
verdant herbage sprinkled with flowers.