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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"The Spirit of the Border"

He was surprised to hear a
swish, followed by a dull blow on the ground. Raising his head, he
looked forward. He saw the hunter wipe his tomahawk on the grass.
"Snake," whispered Wetzel.
Joe saw a huge blacksnake squirming in the grass. Its head had been
severed. He caught glimpses of other snakes gliding away, and glossy
round moles darting into their holes. A gray rabbit started off with
a leap.
"We're near enough," whispered Wetzel, stopping behind a bush. He
rose and surveyed the plain; then motioned Joe to look.
Joe raised himself on his knees. As his gaze reached the level of
the grassy plain his heart leaped. Not fifty yards away was a great,
shaggy, black buffalo. He was the king of the herd; but ill at ease,
for he pawed the grass and shook his huge head. Near him were
several cows and a half-grown calf. Beyond was the main herd,
extending as far as Joe could see--a great sea of black humps! The
lad breathed hard as he took in the grand sight.
"Pick out the little fellar--the reddish-brown one--an' plug him
behind the shoulder. Shoot close now, fer if we miss, mebbe I can't
hit one, because I'm not used to shootin' at sich small marks."
Wetzel's rare smile lighted up his dark face. Probably he could have
shot a fly off the horn of the bull, if one of the big flies or
bees, plainly visible as they swirled around the huge head, had
alighted there.


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