The 25th day of November was the most severe day of the storm, the mercury in our sheltered cañon sinking to -16 degrees.  We had hoped to kill at least five more buffaloes by the time Private West should arrive with the wagons; but when at the end of a week the storm had spent itself, the snow was so deep that hunting was totally impossible save in the vicinity of camp, where there was nothing to kill.  We expected the wagons by the 3d of December, but they did not come that day nor within the next three.  By the 6th the snow had melted off sufficiently that a buffalo hunt was once more possible, and Mr. McNaney and I decided to make a final trip to the Buffalo Buttes.  The state of the ground made it impossible for us to go there and return the same day, so we took a pack-horse and arranged to camp out.

When a little over half-way to our old rendezvous we came upon three buffaloes in the bad grounds, one of which was an enormous old bull, the next largest was an adult cow, and the third a two-year-old heifer.  Mr. McNaney promptly knocked down the old cow, while I devoted my attention to the bull; but she presently got up and made off unnoticed at the precise moment Mr. McNaney was absorbed in watching my efforts to bring down the old bull.  After a short chase my horse carried me alongside my buffalo, and as he turned toward me I gave him a shot through the shoulder, breaking the fore leg and bringing him promptly to the ground.  I then turned immediately to pursue the young cow, but by that time she had got on the farther side of a deep gully which was filled with snow, and by the time I got my horse safely across she had distanced me.  I then rode back to the old bull.  When he saw me coming he got upon his feet and ran a short distance, but was easily overtaken.  He then stood at bay, and halting within 30 yards of him I enjoyed the rare opportunity of studying a live bull buffalo of the largest size on foot on his native heath.  I even made an outline sketch of him in my note-book.  Having studied his form and outlines as much as was really necessary, I gave him a final shot through the lungs, which soon ended his career.

This was a truly magnificent specimen in every respect.  He was a “stub-horn” bull, about eleven years old, much larger every way than any of the others we collected.  His height at the shoulder was 5 feet 8 inches perpendicular, or 2 inches more than the next largest of our collection.  His hair was in remarkably fine condition, being long, fine, thick, and well colored.  The hair in his frontlet is 16 inches in length, and the thick coat of shaggy, straw-colored tufts which covered his neck and shoulders measured 4 inches.  His girth behind the fore leg was 8 feet 4 inches, and his weight was estimated at 1,600 pounds.

[Illustration:  TROPHIES OF THE HUNT.  Mounted by the author in the U. S. National Museum.  Reproduced from the Cosmopolitan Magazine, by permission of the publishers.]