he did not complain, and he was almost certain
to have something interesting to tell of what he had seen.

Theodore Roosevelt had been in this territory before, although not to
remain any great length of time. Once he had come out to hunt buffalo,
no easy thing to do, since this game was growing scarcer every day. He
had a guide named Ferris, who was not particularly struck with the
appearance of the pale young man, plainly dressed, whom he met at the
railroad station.

"I sized him up as not being able to endure a long trip after a
buffalo," said the guide, in speaking afterward of the meeting. "He was
well mounted, but he looked as if he might play out before the sun went
down."

But in this the guide was mistaken. Roosevelt proved that he could ride
as well as anybody. The first night out found the hunters about thirty
miles from any settlement. They went into camp on the open prairie,
tethering their horses with ropes fastened to their saddles, which they
used as pillows.

All went well for an hour or two, when the improvised pillow was jerked
from beneath Theodore Roosevelt's head, and he heard his horse bounding
away in the distance.

"Wolves!" cried the guide. "They have frightened our horses!"

So it proved; and the hunters lost no time in reaching for their
firearms. But the wolves kept their distance, and soon Theodore
Roosevelt was running after the horses, which, after a good deal of
trouble, he secured and brought back. After that the guide no longer
looked on him as a "tenderfoot."

"A tenderfoot," said he, "would have been scared to death. But Teddy
Roosevelt was as cool as a cucumber through it all--as if the happening
wasn't in the least out of the ordinary."

For several days the hunters remained on the prairie looking for
buffalo, but without success. They were on the point of turning back
when the guide noticed that the horses were growing uneasy.

"Some big game at hand," he announced. "Come on to yonder washout and
see if I am not right."

With great caution the hunters advanced to the washout the guide had
mentioned. Dismounting, they crept forward in the shelter of the
brushwood, and there, true enough, resting at his ease was a great
buffalo bull.

"Hit him where the patch of red shows on his side," whispered the guide,
and Roosevelt nodded to show that he understood. With care and coolness
he took aim and fired, and the buffalo bull leaped up and staggered
forward with the blood