far ahead of my competitor now that I thought I
could afford to give an exhibition of my skill. Leaving my saddle and
bridle behind, I rode, with my competitor, to windward of the
buffaloes.

I soon had thirteen down, the last one of which I had driven close to
the wagons, where the ladies were watching the contest. It frightened
some of the tender creatures to see a buffalo coming at full speed
directly toward them, but I dropped him in his tracks before he had got
within fifty yards of the wagon. This finished my "run" with a score of
sixty-nine buffaloes for the day. Comstock had killed forty-six.

It was now late in the afternoon. Comstock and his backers gave up the
idea of beating me. The referee declared me the winner of the match,
and the champion buffalo hunter of the Plains.

On our return to camp we brought with us the best bits of meat, as well
as the biggest and best buffalo heads. The heads I always turned over
to the company, which found a very good use for them. They were mounted
in the finest possible manner and sent to the principal cities along
the road, as well as to the railroad centers of the country. Here they
were prominently placed at the leading hotels and in the stations,
where they made an excellent advertisement for the road Today they
attract the attention of travelers almost everywhere. Often, while
touring the country, I see one of them, and feel reasonably certain
that I brought down the animal it once ornamented. Many a wild and
exciting hunt is thus called to my mind.

In May, 1868, the Kansas Pacific track was pushed as far as Sheridan.
Construction was abandoned for the time, and my services as buffalo
hunter were no longer required. A general Indian war was now raging all
along the Western borders. General Sheridan had taken up headquarters
at Fort Hays, in order to be on the job in person. Scouts and guides
were once more in great demand, and I decided to go back to my old
calling.

I did not wish to kill my faithful old Brigham by the rigors of a
scouting campaign. I had no suitable place to leave him, and determined
to dispose of him. At the suggestion of a number of friends, all of
whom wanted him, I put him up at a raffle, selling ten chances at
thirty dollars each, which were all quickly taken. Ike Bonham, who won
him, took him to Wyandotte, Kansas, where he soon added fresh laurels
to his already shining wreath. In the crowning event of a tournament he
easily outdistan