the same region, they could be seen in single herds covering a thousand acres. When frightened and running, they were turned from their course with the greatest difficulty. A train on the trail they were crossing was only safe in halting and allowing it to pass. The pressure from the rear was so great that the front could not halt. Some of the old plainsmen told of "a tenderfoot's" experience, who was going to have some "rare sport, and his pick of an entire bunch." He observed a large herd quietly grazing and saw by making a detour, up a dry ravine, where he would be hidden from view, he could get immediately in their front. He succeeded, and tying his mule behind him, concealed himself in the edge of some bushes upon the bank of the creek. He did not have long to wait, something in the rear frightened the herd and it began to come directly toward him. As soon as in reach, he began to fire and kill. It would break the ranks for an instant only, and he at once saw death impending, as there was not a tree large enough to climb. He had shot until his gun was hot, but all in vain. Just then his old mule tied in the bushes opened up his musical "honk, honk," such as only a thoroughly frightened mule can utter, and the whole herd opened right and left, and the man was saved. Some have expressed a wonder that these noble animals, in such myriads, should so soon have disappeared. It is easily seen, in the fact of the improved firearms used by the Indians, and that they killed, for food, skins for clothing, and robes for the market, only the cows and calves. They selected only the choice cuts of the meat, and left the great bodies for the wolves and other varments. They could tan only the skins of cows and calves for clothing and for tepee covers. It was a sickening sight to pass over the place of slaughter, and thus see hundreds of bodies, with only tongues and choice cuts and skins taken. American hunters were equally sacrificial. Half a century later the writer rode over the same land and saw Indians, all across the region, with carts and pack ponies gathering up bones of the buffalo. Passing stations along the Great Northern and Northern Pacific railroads, one passes ricks of bones half a mile long on each side, and as high as the tops of the cars, waiting for shipment East as fertilizers, and horn handles for knives and other uses in the arts. Only two living wild herds of buffalo are now reported, one small one in Texas, and one carefully protected by the government in Yellowstone Park. It would have been wise and humane had they been protected sooner by the strong arm of the law.