e had her a
gouple of days." True, I felt like returning to him after a "gouple of
days," but not to pay the other ten dollars. The cow proved to be as
blind as a bat, though capable of counterfeiting the act of seeing to
perfection. For did she not lift up her head and follow with her eyes a
dog that scaled the fence and ran through the other end of the lot,
and the next moment dash my hopes thus raised by trying to walk over
a locust-tree thirty feet high? And when I set the bucket before her
containing her first mess of meal, she missed it by several inches, and
her nose brought up against the ground. Was it a kind of far-sightedness
and near blindness? That was it, I think; she had genius, but not
talent; she could see the man in the moon, but was quite oblivious to
the man immediately in her front. Her eyes were telescopic and required
a long range.

As long as I kept her in the stall, or confined to the inclosure, this
strange eclipse of her sight was of little consequence. But when spring
came, and it was time for her to go forth and seek her livelihood in the
city's waste places, I was embarrassed. Into what remote corners or into
what _terra incognita_ might she not wander! There was little doubt but
that she would drift around home in the course of the summer, or perhaps
as often as every week or two; but could she be trusted to find her way
back every night? Perhaps she could be taught. Perhaps her other senses
were acute enough to compensate in a measure for her defective vision.
So I gave her lessons in the topography of the country. I led her forth
to graze for a few hours each day and led her home again. Then I left
her to come home alone, which feat she accomplished very encouragingly.
She came feeling her way along, stepping very high, but apparently a
most diligent and interested sight-seer. But she was not sure of the
right house when she got to it, though she stared at it very hard.

Again I turned her forth, and again she came back, her telescopic eyes
apparently of some service to her. On the third day, there was a fierce
thunder-storm late in the afternoon, and old buffalo did not come home.
It had evidently scattered and bewildered what little wits she had.
Being barely able to navigate those streets on a calm day, what could
she be expected to do in a tempest?

After the storm had passed, and near sundown, I set out in quest of
her, but could get no clew. I heard that two cows had been struck