spot to pitch camp, Uncle Kit directed me to go and kill a buffalo, so that we might have fresh meat for supper.
That suited me, exactly, for I was eager to get a shot at such big game.
Uncle Kit told me to follow up the ravine until opposite the herd and then climb the hill, but to be careful and not let the buffalo see me.
I followed his instructions to the dot, for I had come to believe that what Kit Carson said was law and gospel, and what he didn't know would not fill a book as large as Ayer's Almanac. I was right, too, so far as plainscraft was concerned.
Uncle Kit had also directed me to select a small buffalo to shoot at, and to surely kill it, for we were out of meat.
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I drew a bead on her and fired.
It so happened that when I got to the top of the hill and in sight of the herd again the first animal that seemed to present an advantageous shot was a two-year-old heifer.
I dropped flat on the ground and crawled toward her, like a snake. Once she raised her head, but the wind
