They
were down-town, and belonged to a Dr. McGillicuddie. They had
been brought in recently from the Rosebud Indian Agency, and had
been captured some time before in the Bad Lands.
We followed the trail, now as deep with mud as it had been
with dust, meeting many freighters on the way, and found the
buffaloes near the Deadwood stage barn.
"See!" exclaimed Ollie; "there they are, in the yard."
"Don't say 'yard,'" returned Jack; "say 'corral,' with a
good, strong accent on the last syllable. A yard is a corral, and
a farm a ranch, and a revolver a six-shooter--and a lot more.
Don't be green, Oliver."
"Oh, bother!" replied Ollie. "There's ten of 'em. See the big
fellow!"
"They're nice ones, that's so," answered Jack. "I'd like to
see the Yankton man we heard about try to milk that cow over in
the corner."
[Illustration: Post-Mortem on a Grizzly]
After we had seen the buffaloes we wandered about town and
jingled our spurs, which were quite in the fashion. We
encountered a big crowd in front of one of the markets, and found
that a hunter had just come in from the mountains to the west
with the carcass of the biggest bear ever brought into Rapid
City.
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