laws, from beyond the Platte to far south
of the Arkansas, within transporting distance of two railroads, day
after day for years made it a lucrative business to kill for the robes
alone, a market for which had suddenly sprung up all over the country.

On either side of the track of the two lines of railroads running
through Kansas and Nebraska, within a relatively short distance and for
nearly their whole length, the most conspicuous objects in those
days were the desiccated carcasses of the noble beasts that had been
ruthlessly slaughtered by the thoughtless and excited passengers on
their way across the continent. On the open prairie, too, miles away
from the course of legitimate travel, in some places one could walk
all day on the dead bodies of the buffaloes killed by the hide-hunters,
without stepping off them to the ground.

The best robes, in their relation to thickness of fur and lustre, were
those taken during the winter months, particularly February, at which
period the maximum of density and beauty had been reached. Then,
notwithstanding the sudden and fitful variations of temperature incident
to our mid-continent climate, the old hunters were especially active,
and accepted unusual risks to procure as many of the coveted skins
as possible. A temporary camp would be established under the friendly
shelter of some timbered stream, from which the hunters would radiate
every morning, and return at night after an arduous day's work, to
smoke their pipes and relate their varied adventures around the fire of
blazing logs.

Sometimes when far away from camp a blizzard would come down from the
north in all its fury without ten minutes' warning, and in a few seconds
the air, full of blinding snow, precluded the possibility of finding
their shelter, an attempt at which would only result in an aimless
circular march on the prairie. On such occasions, to keep from perishing
by the intense cold, they would kill a buffalo, and, taking out its
viscera, creep inside the huge cavity, enough animal heat being retained
until the storm had sufficiently abated for them to proceed with safety
to their camp.

Early in March, 1867, a party of my friends, all old buffalo hunters,
were camped in Paradise valley, then a famous rendezvous of the animals
they were after. One day when out on the range stalking, and widely
separated from each other, a terrible blizzard came up. Three of the
hunters reached their camp without much diff