efully to a
pleasant trip the rest of the way. The valley of the Platte is a sandy
plain, nearly level, extending westward for hundreds of miles from
Kearney, bounded on the north and the south by low bluffs, some four or
five miles apart. Back of these lie the more elevated, dry plains
extending to great distances.

Winding through this valley is the Platte river, a half a mile or more
wide, with water from an inch to two feet deep, running over a sandy
bottom and filled with numberless islands of shifting sand. The banks
were lined with willows and cottonwood bushes and bordered in many
places by green, grassy meadows, but trees were a rarity and for some
two hundred miles we did not see one larger than a good sized bush.

The day we camped near Kearney we began to see buffalo in small groups
off a few miles to the south and west. When I awoke next morning, soon
after daylight, I saw a lone one quietly eating grass about half a mile
from camp. I got out a rifle and went toward him, stooping or going on
my hands and knees through the wet grass, till within good rifle shot. I
then stood up, took deliberate aim just behind the shoulder, and fired.
He gave a quick jump, looked around and started toward me on the run
with head down, in usual fashion, for a charge. My thought was that I
had hit, but not hurt him. I dropped into the grass and made my way on
hands and knees as fast as possible toward camp, a little agitated.
Losing sight of me the animal soon stopped, stood still a few minutes
and then suddenly dropped to the ground. He had been shot through the
heart.

This was my first and last buffalo, as sneaking up to them and shooting
them down did not seem much more like sport than shooting down oxen. I
was neither a sufficiently expert rider nor hunter to chase and shoot
them on horseback. The one I shot was carved by Sollitt and one of the
men, and furnished us fresh meat for breakfast and several meals
thereafter.

During the day we passed a ranch, occupied by a man and his son, twelve
or fourteen years old. The boy had eight or ten buffalo calves in a pen,
which he said he had caught himself and intended to sell to parties
returning to their homes in the East. He had a well-trained little pony,
which he would mount, with a rope in hand that had a noose at the end,
and ride directly into the midst of a small drove of buffalo, and while
they scattered and ran would slip his rope about the neck of a calf and
lead