File:The wilderness hunter; an account of the big game of the United States and its chase with horse, hound and rifle (1903) (14776061142).jpg

Identifier: wildernesshunter00roosev (find matches)
Title: The wilderness hunter; an account of the big game of the United States and its chase with horse, hound and rifle
Year: 1903 (1900s)
Authors: Roosevelt, Theodore, 1858-1919
Subjects:
Publisher: Philadelphia, Gebbie and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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bbled and guarded. On another occasion alarge wolf actually crept into camp, where hewas seized by the dogs, and the yelling, writhingknot of combatants rolled over one of the sleepers;finally, the long-toothed prowler managed toshake himself loose, and vanished in the gloom.One evening they were almost as much startledby a visit of a different kind. They were justfinishing supper when an Indian stalked suddenlyand silently out of the surrounding darkness,squatted down in the circle of firelight, remarkedgravely, Me Tonk, and began helping himselffrom the stew. He belonged to the friendly tribeof Tonkaways, so his hosts speedily recoveredtheir equanimity; as for him, he had never losthis, and he sat eating by the fire until there wasliterally nothing left to eat. The panic causedby his appearance was natural; for at that timethe Comanches were a scourge to the buffalo-hunters, ambushing them and raiding their camps;and several bloody fights had taken place. Me Tank. >^ .•«o\ ^Ui
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The Bison or American Buffalo 9 Their camp had been pitched near a deep poolor water-hole. On both sides the bliiffs rose Hkewalls, and where they had crumbled and lost theirsheemess the vast buffalo herds, passing and re-passing for countless generations, had worn fur-rowed trails so deep that the backs of the beastswere but little above the surrounding soil. In thebottom, and in places along the crests of the cliffsthat hemmed in the canyon-like valley, therewere groves of tangled trees, tenanted by greatflocks of wild turkeys. Once my brother madetwo really remarkable shots at a pair of thesegreat birds. It was at dusk, and they were flyingdirectly overhead from one cliff to the other. Hehad in his hand a thirty-eight calibre Ballardrifle, and, as the gobblers winged their way heavilyby, he brought both down with two successivebullets. This was of course mainly a piece ofmere luck; but it meant good shooting, too. TheBallard was a very accurate, handy little weapon;it belonged to m

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