Hale, who says that his explanation of the source of the name has been accept ed by the antiquarians of California. But he has not generally received credit for his discovery as he deserves, and the story is here retold. IN THE PRIME OF THE BUFFALO. OF very recent years a great deal has been written concerning the rapid disappearance from the American continent of the buffalo. Thirty years ago millions of the great unwieldy animals existed on this continent. Innumerable droves roamed, comparatively undisturbed and unmolested, over a vast belt of the public domain, both east and west of the Rocky Mountains, and west of the Missouri river. They were scattered in countless battalions from the sandy, arid steppes of the Llano Estacado (staked plains), on the south, to the British possessions on the north. True, the Indians slaughtered thousands annually for their supply of winter's food; but so rapid was the natural increase that the destruction was promptly made good. If the buffalo had had no enemy besides the red nomads of the plains, they would never have become extinct, as is now literally the case. Many thousands have been ruthlessly and shamefully slain every season for the past twenty years or more by white hunters and tourists merely for their robes, or in sheer wanton sport, and their huge carcasses left to fester and rot, and their bleached skeletons to strew the deserts and lonely plains. So persistent and general has been this remorseless slaughter, that but very few specimens of these picturesque crea tures have survived. In fact, it is claimed that none of the species can be found in a native state roaming east or west of the precipitous declivities of the Rockies. What few now survive will, probably, within a few years vanish, and not a sin gle buffalo remain to tell the story of complete and total annihilation on American soil. As so much has been said and written about "The Last Buffalo," a short sketch regarding the first of these animals may not prove uninteresting to readers who feel an interest in the hopeless fate of the great American bison. My brief sketch is of an immigrant train, while accomplishing the long and perilous journey from the angry waters of the "red Missouri," to the remote Willamette Valley of Oregon. The exciting incident of which I speak especially, occurred during the early part of the summer of 1853. After weeks of constant travel, the train, numbering some fifty wagons and about three hundred souls, had just reached the eastern limits of that vast stretch of the American plains known as the "Buffalo Range." This was near the Arkansas river, and after the train had been winding along the timberless banks of that tortuous and tawny-colored stream some days. Melting snows in the remote mountain fastnesses where the Arkansas finds its source, had caused that water course to become much swollen, in many places overflowing its low shelving banks, and inundating wide adjoining tracts of land. Hence the tawny color which has sometimes given it the name of the "Nile of America," as at some seasons of the year it rolls its yellow floods over sandy beds toward its far away Gulf home. Buffalo sign had been observed for in the hope of seeing a herd. Only a treeless expanse of rolling plain, interspersed here and there with a clump of slender, graceful osiers, and scattered "mottes" of timber rewarded each time the eager search. several days back, and an old trapper and was reached by the slowly moving train, prairie guide, who had been employed in piloting the train across a portion of the journey, said they were liable to come in sight of a drove at any turn of the route. This sign consisted of buffalo chips, myriads of tracks, and very numerous wallows. Readers who are acquainted with the habits of the American bison know that he is as fond of rolling and wallowing in the damp, soft soil as swine, especially at certain times of the year. This disposition to roll increases as the weather grows hotter. Following in the wake of an immense drove of these nomadic ruminants, one may see thousands of these huge wallows, or holes, scattered all over the face of the plain. These wallows and the other unmistakable traces of the presence of buffalo had been very frequently encountered by the westward bound train. To every man, woman and child of the company, with the exception of the old guide, the buffalo was a strange, wonderful creature — an animal revelation. All had read about or heard of these prairie rovers, but none had ever seen a living specimen. Fancy, then, the curiosity and wonder at the prospect not only of catch. ing a fugitive glimpse of one, but of see. ing an almost countless drove-from one thousand to ten thousand. The trapper pilot assured us that the train was just as likely to roll in view of twenty thousand as of twenty. In fact, these creatures were exceedingly gregarious, and generally moved like a vast army in great herds, marching and grazing to the northward or southward according to the season. Herbage of every description and grass melt away before such a voracious host, which, not unlike a cloud of greedy locusts, leaves behind only a blackened, trampled, and barren plain. Expectation had for several days been strung to a high tension, and every eye swept eagerly the far-off rim of the horizon whenever the top of an eminence A sweltering, but not breezeless afternoon in June. For two days the old and dimmed immigrant road (in fact a mere trail) had been along the bank of the Arkansas, and very near that sand-laden stream; but early on the morning of the day in question, it had made an abrupt detour, leaving the shallow and sullen river to the left or south. For some miles the road wound through an open stretch of undulating country. Luxuriant grass clothed the plain like green velvet carpet, and scarcely a tree rose in view. In many places there were great expanses, covered thickly with flowering plants. They looked wonderfully like enormous flower gardens, cultivated and trained by the hand of man. Millions of brilliant flowers scarlet, pink, vermilion, purple, and yellow-blossomed in wild profusion, and the air was full of intoxicating fragrance, as they waved gently to and fro in the soft afternoon wind. Thousands of large butterflies with gorgeously colored wings hovered over the moving sea of verdure, and the ear was soothed by the droning hum of unnumbered bees and other insects. The delighted eye, so long accustomed to the weary monotony of sandy plains, sterile rocks, and sere prairies, roved with restless delight over the enchanting scene, and the fragrant and delicious summer wind made every breath an inspiration indeed. Through this lovely sea of verdure and flowers the immigrant road passed, winding around and over occasional swells of ground, ascending and descending the gentle slopes. Just ahead of the moving train rose a prolonged hill, higher than any yet crossed by the road, and shutting out from view the limitless sweep of the country beyond. The old guide had pressed forward and reached the crest of the ridge, several hundred yards in advance of the train. Suddenly he was seen to rein in his tall, rawboned nag, and gaze for a few moments in an opposite direction, and then, turning his face toward the approaching train, to swing his old, greasy, coon-skin cap above his head; at the same moment he gave several lusty cheers, waving his hand significantly toward the west. Although much jaded, the teams were urged forward to the summit. Meantime, those on horseback and on foot hurried forward. All these on reaching the crest joined the guide in cheering and making other joyful demonstrations. Soon the mystery was explained, for a loud cry of "the buffaloes" passed rapidly from lip to lip. Stretching away for many miles from the western base of the hill was a plain, as level and unbroken as a sleeping lake. Far, far as the limit of human vision extended was scattered a vast drove of the long and eagerly expected buffaloes. To count such a herd, or even to guess approximately their number, was a task about as hopeless as to compute the leaves of a great forest. The ground was literally swarming with them, and their dusky, shaggy, grotesque bodies, thickly mingling and blending, scattered away indefinitely into the misty dis tance, until like a black cloud they faded away into earth and sky at the remote line of the horizon. Each huge creature was in restless motion; some browsed on the luxuriant herbage; some wallowed in the moist earth; some gamboled, or engaged in playful contests. A subdued, continual roar was heard arising from the moanlike bellowing of the countless drove. The hoof-strokes of myriads of feet also produced a dull, heavy sound, which, combining with the other noise, reminded one of the distant lash of the - surf on a rock-bound coast; only there was no ebb and flow the sound was unbroken. The endless movements of the herd were as kaleidoscopic as the tossing of the troubled deep. On both sides of the road this mighty host grazed, browzed, wallowed, and played, totally unconscious that human eyes were gazing on the scene. It was a spectacle that filled every breast with varied emotions wonder, surprise, curiosity, apprehension (for all had read about or heard of the fearful stampedes of buffaloes), not unmingled with awe. For nearly an hour the train halted, while all gazed on the never-to-be-forgotten sight. At length the sloping shadows warned the immigrants that the hours were fleeting, and the afternoon far advanced. There was neither wood nor water in sight, and some miles must be traveled before a suitable camping place (so necessary in making the great pilgrimage to the West), could be reached. Headed by the guide and a party of mounted men the train moved forward, and passing down the western slope of the hill resumed the journey. The wagons and loose horses and cattle were driven as compactly as possible, while mounted men rode along each side a short distance from the line of the wagons. A strong mounted guard also brought up the rear. Slowly the train moved onward, like a gigantic serpent winding across the plain. Half a mile was passed, and still the vast herd played and fed unmindful of the approaching enemy. The nearest outpost of the herd was still half a mile distant. A gentle breeze was blowing westward, and very soon the train was "winded by the nearest buffaloes. These quickly tossed up their wild, shaggy heads, sniffed the air suspiciously, uttered a peculiar snort and bellow, and, after taking one glance at the wagons, wheeled around and beat a retreat. Scarcely a minute passed before the alarm spread with the rapidity of wildfire. Seeing those farthest east running, thousands of the buffaloes turned their shaggy frontlets in that direction, only to smell the enemy, and instinctively catch the spirit of the panic. As the road led amidst the drove, the frightened animals pressed to the right and left, leaving a wide open space, reminding one of the swinging asunder of a mighty portal. Now the panic became general, and rout and confusion prevailed. The scene was one baffling description. Like the ebbing of a tremendous tide, the countless throng receded. Nothing could be seen as far as the eye could reach but one surging mass, black as night, moving like gigantic billows; while the loudest peal of thunder seemed insignificant in comparison to the confused trampling of numberless hoofs. Even the continuous roll of heavy ordnance was not more deafening. Earth trembled as if smitten with the throes of a volcanic eruption, while the very air seemed to quiver from the tumultuous tread and trampling of the vast drove in its wild, disordered flight. As the panic spread it grew each instant more impetuous and intense, until no human power could have checked or turned aside the animals in their precip itous and fearful stampede. During this time the train continued to advance very slowly. Strange to say, none of the loose stock attempted to make their escape and join in the stampede. The rear line of the retreating herd moved farther and farther away. Finally, only a somber line, that each minute was growing dimmer, could be perceived low down on the horizon; the tumult of the thundering hoofs was dying away on the air, and was like the voice of the sea breaking on a rocky coast. streak had faded from view, and the dull rumbling had mellowed down to an almost inaudible murmur, and soon died away in the distance. That mighty host of creatures had apparently vanished into thin air. Onward the train moved silently across the somber and trampled plain, which now looked like a newly plowed field of boundless expanse. The blue shadows crept slowly toward the east, magnifying the wagons and teams into gigantic proportions of shade. Not more than two hours of daylight remained. The sun's fiery disc was near the great treeless and shrubless horizon, while purple shadows could be seen gradually rising far off, and obscuring the glory of the summer's sunlight. Darkness would soon settle down over the vast solitudes of the plains. With voice, and more cogent whip, the teams were urged forward, for as yet no welcome campingplace hove in sight. Suddenly a very small drove of buffaloes, (probably not more than twenty in number,) were seen bounding with their unwieldy, uncouth movements over the prairie. They were advancing at the top of their speed. They came from the south, and had doubtless swum the swollen Arkansas but a short time before, as their woolly hides glistened wet in the red rays of the low June sun. When first seen, they were heading directly for the moving train, which stretched more than two hundred yards along the road. But suddenly, perceiving the white canvas tilts and singular vehicles, they came to a summary halt, tossed up their grostesque heads, sniffed the air suspiciously, uttered a sort of moan and bellow, and swerving to the eastward resumed their wild, heedless gallop, passing to the rear of the train. This herd was composed principally of cows and yearlings. To a number of young, impulsive Ten minutes later the receding dark Nimrods, the temptation proved too strong to be resisted. Being well mounted and well armed, several gave a spirited chase. By running at an angle, they were able to partially head off the animals, and soon came within easy rifle range. Loud above the sound of shouts and clattering hoof-strokes, the keen, whip-like detonations-spang, spang, spang, - of the American rifle were heard. The weapons were handled by skilled hunters. Before a dozen shots were discharged, four young buffaloes were seen to drop in their tracks. The rest of the drove plunged forward with accelerated speed and sullen bellows, and in a few minutes had passed beyond the range of the enemy's guns. A brief halt was called. A feast of fat steaks was too delicious a prospect to be postponed by people whose meat diet had consisted solely of bacon (Old Ned) for weeks past. The buffalo meat was such a novel dainty, too, that it was not within the power of human nature to resist the temptation. Matters were speedily arranged. One of the wagons was quickly emptied of its contents, and two stalwart and "firm" mules were exchanged for the plodding, patient ox team. Half a dozen of the young men were detailed to remain behind, to skin and cut up the carcasses of the dead animals, load the wagon, and then press on and overtake the team. With these instructions and arrangements the signal was given, and the train once more took up its westward line of march. An hour's steady travel, and soon the glint of water — which proved to be no mirage of the plains-flashed in the rays of the setting sun. Presently the yellow flood of the Arkansas was descried a few miles to the southwest. Toward that stream, now doubly welcome, the course was directed. The silvery reflection was a most gratifying vision to the hungry, thirsty, and travelworn band of immigrants. Just as the sun was disappearing behind the range of mountains that now rose to view far, far to the west, and the gloaming was rapidly falling over the prairie world, a dark line was perceived, for the first time, a few hundred yards. ahead, bisecting the road nearly at right angles. On a near approach it proved to be a narrow belt of timber, densely skirting the banks of a small arroyo. This stream, only a few yards in width, was swift, rolling over a bed of white pebbles and sand, and its waters were clear as crystal and almost ice-cold. Its source was in a range of low, heavily timbered hills that trended away some miles to the northward. A quarter of a mile south of where the road crossed the beautiful brook rolled the sullen and turbid Arkansas, into which the little tributary poured ceaselessly its limpid waters. Here, then, was the wearied traveler's oasis- plenty of wood, pure water in abundance, and a profusion of nutritious grass for the jaded beasts. Bright fires were soon blazing along the border of the timber, spreading a cheerful glow and warmth on the cool evening air, and casting fantastic shadows where the flickering light of the flames was thrown far back and lost in the depths of the heavy foliage. The hungry and thirsty cattle were turned loose to drink and graze, horses and mules tethered, and sentinels posted to prevent surprise from some chance roving bands of red men, and to keep the stock from what was always to be feared a stampede. To the immigrant, constantly surrounded by seen and invisible perils, caution becomes an instinctive habit. Preparations for the evening meal had been begun, when the party left behind with the wagon reached the camp. Their arrival was hailed with loud cheers and general rejoicing. What a season of feasting followed! How the fires roared, and sent out broad |