Appears in exhibition catalog as entry no. [not numbered]
The buffalo are now grazing at the base of the rocks, but not in safety, for yonder are two Indians in ambush, well armed. A GRAND BUFFALO HUNT thunders along, headlong. The solid ground shakes as they pass. Clouds of dust fly from the flying herd. Strong hunters, on swift horses, draw the feathered arrow to the point; the sharp lance is driven fiercely. One bold buffalo, wounded, turns at bay--the arrow is in his side. Beware, hunters, how ye approach him now. Another lies bleeding, dead. By him stops the Artist, on his steed--to contemplate his own work, for to-day Stanley has been a mighty hunter. Relating his exploits on a similar occasion to the present, our Artist said: "I went out alone, for buffalo, and soon found a herd--noble fellows. I fired at one, and then--" "What then*" asked a friend. "Why, I watched that buffalo with my spy-glass, six miles and a half, and he never limped." But on the field before us is glory enough for an Artist. [P. 15; exhibited under heading: "Section Third."]
Scenes and Incidents of Stanley's Western Wilds. Washington: Printed at the Evening Star Office.
