Produced by Julia Miller, Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. [=e] refers to the "long e" sound (example: K[=i]-o-te). [Illustration: _BUREAU OF ILLUSTRATION BUFFALO NY_] BUFFALO LAND: AN AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE _Discoveries, Adventures, and Mishaps of a Scientific and Sporting Party_ IN THE WILD WEST; WITH GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF THE COUNTRY; THE RED MAN, SAVAGE AND CIVILIZED; HUNTING THE BUFFALO, ANTELOPE, ELK, AND WILD TURKEY; ETC., ETC. REPLETE WITH INFORMATION, WIT, AND HUMOR. The Appendix Comprising a Complete Guide for Sportsmen and Emigrants. BY W. E. WEBB, OF TOPEKA, KANSAS. Profusely Illustrated FROM ACTUAL PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY HENRY WORRALL. CINCINNATI AND CHICAGO: E HANNAFORD & COMPANY. SAN FRANCISCO: F. DEWING & CO. 1872. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by E. HANNAFORD & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. STEREOTYPED AT THE FRANKLIN TYPE FOUNDRY, CINCINNATI. TO The Primeval Man, _The Original Westerner, and First Buffalo Hunter,_ This Work is Dedicated, WITH PROFOUND REGARD, _BY THE AUTHOR._ BUFFALO LAND. BY OUR TAMMANY SACHEM. There's a wonderful land far out in the West, Well worthy a visit, my friend; There, Puritans thought, as the sun went to rest, Creation itself had an end. 'T is a wild, weird spot on the continent's face, A wound which is ghastly and red, Where the savages write the deeds of their race In blood that they constantly shed. The graves of the dead the fair prairies deface, And stamp it the kingdom of dread. The emigrant trail is a skeleton path; You measure its miles by the bones; There savages struck, in their merciless wrath, And now, after sunset, the moans, When tempests are out, fill the shuddering air, And ghosts flit the wagons beside, And point to the skulls lying grinning and bare And beg of the teamsters a ride; Sometimes 't is a father with snow on his hair, Again, 't is a youth and his bride. What visions of horror each valley could tell, If Providence gave it a tongue! How often its Eden was changed to a hell, In which a whole train had been flung; How death cry and battle-shout frightened the birds, And prayers were as thick as the leaves, And no one to catch the poor dying one's words But Death, as he gathered his sheaves: You see the bones bleaching among the wild herds, In shrouds that the field spider weaves.