self from his rifle, a thing he has never been guilty of before or
since.

Kit Carson, when with Fremont on his first exploring expedition, while
hunting for the command, at some point on the Arkansas, left a buffalo
which he had just killed and partly cut up, to pursue a large bull that
came rushing by him alone. He chased his game for nearly a quarter of a
mile, not being able, however, to gain on it rapidly, owing to the blown
condition of his horse. Coming up at length to the side of the fleeing
beast, Carson fired, but at the same instant his horse stepped into a
prairie-dog hole, fell down and threw Kit fully fifteen feet over his
head. The bullet struck the buffalo low under the shoulder, which only
served to enrage him so that the next moment the infuriated animal was
pursuing Kit, who, fortunately not much hurt, was able to run toward the
river. It was a race for life now, Carson using his nimble legs to
the utmost of their capacity, accelerated very much by the thundering,
bellowing bull bringing up the rear. For several minutes it was nip and
tuck which should reach the stream first, but Kit got there by a scratch
a little ahead. It was a big bend of the river, and the water was deep
under the bank, but it was paradise compared with the hades plunging at
his back; so Kit leaped into the water, trusting to Providence that the
bull would not follow. The trust was well placed, for the bull did
not continue the pursuit, but stood on the bank and shook his head
vehemently at the struggling hunter who had preferred deep waves to the
horns of a dilemma on shore.

Kit swam around for some time, carefully guarded by the bull, until
his position was observed by one of his companions, who attacked the
belligerent animal successfully with a forty-four slug, and then Kit
crawled out and--skinned the enemy!

He once killed five buffaloes during a single race, and used but four
balls, having dismounted and cut the bullet from the wound of the
fourth, and thus continued the chase. He it was, too, who established
his reputation as a famous hunter by shooting a buffalo cow during an
impetuous race down a steep hill, discharging his rifle just as the
animal was leaping on one of the low cedars peculiar to the region.
The ball struck a vital spot, and the dead cow remained in the jagged
branches. The Indians who were with him on that hunt looked upon the
circumstance as something beyond their comprehension, and insisted that