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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required ...Bob’s gun went off with a resounding bang, the bull lurched, then slumped slowly to the snow. Bob let out a loud cry of primal joy, and down to his kill the three of us did go. He gave up a short chant in the Pawnee tongue, then pulled out his knife and got to work, Gus called in to let the meat-cutters now, when Bob reared up from the kill with a jerk. He had cut a piece of the bull’s liver, and he proceeded to eat the chunk raw, don’t know if it was tradition or not… one of the strangest things I ever saw. Gus seemed to take the act all in stride, then motioned me to come follow him out, now was my chance to get myself a bill, and I tell you my heart was beating loud. We did not do back to where the truck sat, just proceeded down a low ridge on foot, Gus knew of another who hung out close, we moved fast, the morning light was quite good. It took nearly forty minutes to track to the spot where we found the aging bull, he pawed at hard snow, looking for grass, his head huge, his form covered in wool. This was the moment I’d been dreaming of, I was too excited to feel much fear, took my aim with an antique Sharp’s rifle, the sort that was used by the pioneers. Off went the gun! The round hit hard and fast, but the massive beast did not drop right there, he charged angrily, and Gus screamed,”Move it!” we booked booked it, heading for anywhere But the charge was just a final outburst, the big bull slowed and collapsed on his side, by the time we stopped and turned to see it, the aging bison had already died. I took home a hide I used for a coat, and ample meat, bison sure does grill well, also the horns, but the best thing I got was one hell of a story to tell…
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