So for several minutes I watched the great, clumsy, shaggy beasts, as
they grazed in the open glade. Mixed with the eager excitement of
the hunter was a certain half-melancholy feeling as I gazed on these
bison, themselves part of the last remnant of a nearly vanished race.
Few, indeed, are the men who now have, or evermore shall have, the
chance of seeing the mightiest of American beasts in all his wild
vigor.

At last, when I had begun to grow very anxious lest the others should
take alarm, the bull likewise appeared on the edge of the glade, and
stood with outstretched head, scratching his throat against a young
tree, which shook violently. I aimed low, behind his shoulder, and
pulled the trigger. At the crack of the rifle all the bison turned
and raced off at headlong speed. The fringe of young pines beyond and
below the glade cracked and swayed as if a whirlwind were passing,
and in another moment the bison reached the top of a steep incline,
thickly strewn with boulders and dead reckless speed; the timber. Down
this they plunged with surefootedness was a marvel. A column of dust
obscured their passage, and under its cover they disappeared in the
forest; but the trail of the bull was marked by splashes of frothy
blood, and we followed it at a trot. Fifty yards beyond the border
of the forest we found the black body stretched motionless. He was a
splendid old bull, still in his full vigor, with large, sharp horns,
and heavy mane and glossy coat; and I felt the most exulting pride as
I handled and examined him; for I had procured a trophy such as can
fall henceforth to few hunters indeed.