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Updated: June 28, 2025
There were signs of a storm coming up; the air was quiet and still, and it was in this peculiar stillness that Bulon thought he heard an unusual sound in the bushes. He turned his huge head and sharp eyes in that direction, but in the next instant there was a short, sharp sound a stinging, burning, pain in his shoulder and the old buffalo knew that he had been wounded.
He gathered himself up, nearly mad with pain for the cruel thorns had completely blinded him and in his agony tore round and round forgetting his enemy forgetting the soft, boggy spot forgetting the herd forgetting everything except the awful anguish and bewildering darkness. It went hard with Bulon after this, for he was in a sad plight.
And a terrible fight it had been, too, for one of the younger males had dared to show a little attention to one of Bulon's wives, and this in buffalo land is a great insult and not to be overlooked. So Bulon had promptly challenged the offender; his rival had just as promptly responded to the challenge, and a great fight they had.
Just as he realized this a small, upright form came forward from the left side and stood in front of him. Had the form, which was a man, only been in front at first, Bulon would have seen it; but he could not like all buffaloes see very well unless things were in a straight line before him.
But he grew quieter at last, and towards morning, just as the sun was tinting the sky with glorious colors, Bulon sank a little further into the soft mud he had always loved so well and died.
So, although Bulon would not give the signal to feed, the buffaloes were quite happy, as they had plenty of food with which to chew the cud an action which is invariably a sign of placid content among ruminants. Bulon was the only one who was not ruminating. But then he was on the lookout for enemies, and, moreover, his temper was still exceedingly ruffled.
By the time night swept over the land the only thing to be seen of Bulon was his grand, huge head and big horns standing out in a bold curve; his shaggy, woolly masses of hair, and his nose and mouth swollen now into an almost shapeless mass. As the night wore on, Bulon's sufferings increased, and his groans were unearthly sounds, echoing and re-echoing through the darkness.
The hunter had such a narrow escape from the sudden onrush of the buffalo that he deemed it wise not realizing that the animal had been blinded to retreat. Had he only known the piteous plight in which poor Bulon was, it would have been an easy matter to have put another bullet into him, and so ended his life and sufferings. As it was, Bulon wandered about for days in a pitiable plight.
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