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"Would it be safe to allow Bart here to go with you after the bison?" "You mean buffler, don't you?" said Joses, in a low, growling tone. "No; I mean bison," replied the Doctor, sharply. "You people call them buffalo. I say, do you think it safe for him to go with you?" "Safe? Course it is," growled Joses. "We shall want him too.
"Why not, my lad?" "Why not? Do you suppose I want to be trampled down and tossed?" "Look here, Master Bart. You'll trust me, won't you?" "Yes, Joses." "You know I wouldn't send you into danger, don't you?" "Of course, Joses." "Then look here, my lad. I'm going to give you a lesson, if you'll learn it." "A lesson in what?" asked Bart. "In buffler, my lad." "Very well, go on; I'm listening.
Just then Bart remembered that Joses had warned him not to fire at the front of a bison. "He'd carry away half-a-dozen balls, my lad, and only die miserably afterwards in the plain. What you've got to do is to put a bullet in a good place and bring him down at once. That's good hunting. It saves powder and lead, makes sure of the meat, and don't hurt the buffler half so much."
"That season they sent a runner down to the Pawnees to make a peace talk, an' to find out what this yere thing was the whites had brung out. Pawnees sent to the Otoes, an' the Otoes told them. They said hit was the white man's big medicine, an' that hit buried all the buffler under the ground wherever hit come, so no buffler ever could git out again.
But in the fancy, in the sperrit, so to speak, I'm ridin' the finest hoss that ever pranced, an' I'm settin' in a silver saddle, holdin' reins o' blue silk, an' that proud hoss o' mine champs an' champs his jaws on a bit made o' solid gold. Come on, Tom, I ain't 'preciated here. We'll kill that buffler, ef you don't talk me to death on the way. Remember now to hold your volyble tongue.
"I don't want you to listen, my lad," said Joses; "I want you to get down and walk right up to the buffler bulls there, and try and lay hold of their horns." "Walk up to them?" cried Bart. "Why, I was just thinking that if we don't turn and gallop off, they'll trample us down." "Not they, my lad," replied Joses. "I know 'em better than that." "Why, they rushed right over us at the camp."
He held up his hand to command silence after this, and then pointed out into the plain. "Can you see anything, Joses?" whispered Bart. "Not a sign of anything but dry buffler grass and sage-brush. No; it's of no use, Master Bart, I've only got four-mile eyes, and these Injun have got ten-mile eyes. Natur's made 'em so, and it's of no use to fight again it.
"Some feller's lost his buffler, I expect. Let's ride down an' put him out'n his misery afore the wolves does." They swung off and rode for a time toward the strange object. Banion pulled up. "That's no buffalo! That's a man and his horse! He's bogged down!" "You're right, Will, an' bogged bad! I've knew that light-green slough grass to cover the wurst sort o' quicksand.
"He must be a tough combination, but I'll do it, all the same." "Do what, Chip?" asked Sam. "Go down to Swanson's and bring in my man." "Bars and buffler skins," cried Brodey. "You don't mean to say that you will do such a blame fool thing as that. Sho!" "Not alone, Chip," said Sam. "I go with you." "See hyar, young fellers," expostulated Brodey.
We'll git enough meat to take us a week to jerk hit all, or else Jim Bridger's a liar which no one never has said yit, ma'am." "Flowers?" he added. "You takin' flowers acrost? Flowers do they go with the plow, too, as well as weeds? Well, well! Wimminfolks shore air a strange race o' people, hain't that the truth? Buryin' the buffler an' plantin' flowers on his grave!
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