I saw that he was pretty sure to come home empty-handed if he continued this sort of pistol practice.  So I gave him my old “Lucretia” and told him to urge his horse close to the buffaloes, and not to shoot till I gave him the word.  At the same time I gave Buckskin Joe a cut with my whip which sent him at a furious gallop to within ten feet of one of the biggest bulls in the herd.

“Now is your time,” I shouted to Alexis.  He fired, and down went the buffalo.  Then, to my amazement, he dropped his gun, waved his hat in the air, and began talking to members of his suite in his native tongue, which I of course was totally unable to understand.  Old Buckskin Joe was standing behind the horse that I was riding, apparently quite as much astonished as I was at this singular conduct of a man he had accepted in good faith as a buffalo hunter.

There was no more hunting for the Grand Duke just then.  The pride of his achievement had paralyzed any further activity as a Nimrod in him.  Presently General Sheridan came riding up, and the ambulances were gathered round.  Soon corks were popping and champagne was flowing in honor of the Grand Duke Alexis and his first buffalo.

Many of the newspapers which printed accounts of the hunt said that I had shot the buffalo for the Grand Duke.  Others asserted that I held the buffalo while the Grand Duke shot him.  But the facts are just as I have related them.

It was evident to all of us that there could be little more sport for that day.  At the request of General Sheridan I guided the Russians back to camp.  Several of the others in the party decided to indulge in a little hunt on their own account, and presently we saw them galloping madly over the prairie in all directions, with terrified buffaloes flying before them.

As we were crossing a stream on our way back to camp we ran into a small band that had been frightened by some of these hunters.  They came sweeping across our path, not more than thirty feet away, and as they passed Alexis raised his pistol and fired generally into the herd.  A buffalo cow fell.

It was either an extraordinary shot or a “scratch,” probably the latter.  The Duke was as much astonished as any of us at the result, but we gave him three rousing cheers, and when the ambulance came up we had a second round of champagne in honor of the prowess of our distinguished fellow hunter.  I began to hope that he would keep right on killing buffaloes all the afternoon, for it was apparent that every time he dropped an animal a basket of champagne was to be opened.  And in those days on the Plains champagne was not a drink that could be indulged in very often.

I took care of the hides and heads of the buffaloes the Grand Duke had shot, as he wanted them all preserved as souvenirs of his hunt, which he was now enjoying immensely.  I also cut the choice meat from the cow that he had killed and brought it into camp.  At supper he had the pleasure of dining on buffalo meat which he himself had provided.