stood up, squared himself into a wide stance, and got off a couple of shots with his .44â40 Winchester buffalo rifle, but both bullets missed. 13
McNaney had better luck, or better aim. Hornaday saw a cow go down, and watched as the other cow and the great bull hightailed it over the hill. He slammed a few more cartridges into his Winchester,leaped onto his Indian pony, Brownie, and took off at a gallop through the snowcovered sagebrush. Brownie was a splendid, high-spirited animal, and he mounted the hill and flew down the other side like the wind until he drew even with the fleeing pair of buffalo, who were tearing away down the ravine with wads of snow flying up from their hooves. The bull, seeming to sense that heâd been caught, stopped suddenly and whirled around to fight, his head lowered, shovel-shaped horns thrust outward like an invitation to death. Hornaday fired once for his lungs, but the shot was low. He fired a second time at his shoulder, and the beast went down, head foremost, in the snow. Without waiting to watch what happened next, Hornaday took off in pursuit of the cow, but she escaped. He reined Brownie back around sharply, and trotted back to the fallen bull. The bull was still alive and sitting up where heâd fallen.
As the bull saw Hornaday coming back, he staggered to his feetâdespite what appeared to be a broken legâand began trundling off over the snowy hill. Just over the crest, the bull halted again, panting, blood pouring down his shoulder, head lowered for a fight. When he panted, a spray of bright blood appeared on the white snow. Hornaday pulled Brownie up to within thirty yards of him and âgazed upon him with genuine astonishment. Not until that moment had I realized what a grand prize had fallen to me.â He continued:
He seemed to me then, ay, and he did later on, the grandest quadruped I ever beheld, lions, tigers, and elephants not excepted. His huge bulk loomed up like a colossus, and the height of his great shaggy hump, and the steepness of its slope down to his loins, seemed positively incredible. . . . His massive head was crowned by a thick mass of blackish-brown hair lying in a tumble of great curly tufts, sixteen inches long, piled upon on each other, crowding back upon his horns, almost hiding them, and quite onto his shoulders. . . . The upper half of each foreleg was lost in a huge bunch of long, coarse black hair, in which scores of cockleburs had caught and hopelessly tangled. The body itself and the loin quarters were covered with a surprisingly thick coat of long, fine, mouse-colored hair, without the slightest flaw or blemish. From head to heel, the animal seemed to possess everything the finest buffalo in the world should have, and although by that time no stranger to his kind, I sat gazing upon him so completely absorbedby wonder and admiration that had he made a sudden charge he might easily have bowled me over. 14
The immense bull stood there in the snow with his feet braced apart, head lowered, eyeing the hunter fiercely, with the whites of his eyeballs showing. His head sank very low a couple of times, then he abruptly lifted it and glared at Hornaday, panting. He pawed the wet snow with his wounded foreleg. He was a formidable adversary, a truly noble combatant, and he was not prepared to surrender.
âWith the greatest reluctance I ever felt about taking the life of an animal,â Hornaday wrote later, âI shot the great beast through the lungs, and he fell down and died.â 15
When he and McNaney laid the big bull out in the snow and took measurements, he turned out to be five feet eight inches in vertical height at the shoulder; nine feet two inches end to end, from the tip of his nose to the back of the thigh; eight feet four inches in girth around the chest; and according to Hornadayâs reckoning, must have weighed about 1,600 pounds. When he dressed the animal out, he turned out to have four
McNaney had better luck, or better aim. Hornaday saw a cow go down, and watched as the other cow and the great bull hightailed it over the hill. He slammed a few more cartridges into his Winchester,leaped onto his Indian pony, Brownie, and took off at a gallop through the snowcovered sagebrush. Brownie was a splendid, high-spirited animal, and he mounted the hill and flew down the other side like the wind until he drew even with the fleeing pair of buffalo, who were tearing away down the ravine with wads of snow flying up from their hooves. The bull, seeming to sense that heâd been caught, stopped suddenly and whirled around to fight, his head lowered, shovel-shaped horns thrust outward like an invitation to death. Hornaday fired once for his lungs, but the shot was low. He fired a second time at his shoulder, and the beast went down, head foremost, in the snow. Without waiting to watch what happened next, Hornaday took off in pursuit of the cow, but she escaped. He reined Brownie back around sharply, and trotted back to the fallen bull. The bull was still alive and sitting up where heâd fallen.
As the bull saw Hornaday coming back, he staggered to his feetâdespite what appeared to be a broken legâand began trundling off over the snowy hill. Just over the crest, the bull halted again, panting, blood pouring down his shoulder, head lowered for a fight. When he panted, a spray of bright blood appeared on the white snow. Hornaday pulled Brownie up to within thirty yards of him and âgazed upon him with genuine astonishment. Not until that moment had I realized what a grand prize had fallen to me.â He continued:
He seemed to me then, ay, and he did later on, the grandest quadruped I ever beheld, lions, tigers, and elephants not excepted. His huge bulk loomed up like a colossus, and the height of his great shaggy hump, and the steepness of its slope down to his loins, seemed positively incredible. . . . His massive head was crowned by a thick mass of blackish-brown hair lying in a tumble of great curly tufts, sixteen inches long, piled upon on each other, crowding back upon his horns, almost hiding them, and quite onto his shoulders. . . . The upper half of each foreleg was lost in a huge bunch of long, coarse black hair, in which scores of cockleburs had caught and hopelessly tangled. The body itself and the loin quarters were covered with a surprisingly thick coat of long, fine, mouse-colored hair, without the slightest flaw or blemish. From head to heel, the animal seemed to possess everything the finest buffalo in the world should have, and although by that time no stranger to his kind, I sat gazing upon him so completely absorbedby wonder and admiration that had he made a sudden charge he might easily have bowled me over. 14
The immense bull stood there in the snow with his feet braced apart, head lowered, eyeing the hunter fiercely, with the whites of his eyeballs showing. His head sank very low a couple of times, then he abruptly lifted it and glared at Hornaday, panting. He pawed the wet snow with his wounded foreleg. He was a formidable adversary, a truly noble combatant, and he was not prepared to surrender.
âWith the greatest reluctance I ever felt about taking the life of an animal,â Hornaday wrote later, âI shot the great beast through the lungs, and he fell down and died.â 15
When he and McNaney laid the big bull out in the snow and took measurements, he turned out to be five feet eight inches in vertical height at the shoulder; nine feet two inches end to end, from the tip of his nose to the back of the thigh; eight feet four inches in girth around the chest; and according to Hornadayâs reckoning, must have weighed about 1,600 pounds. When he dressed the animal out, he turned out to have four
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