"Won't they be shot out?"
"Not they. There's about eight thousand of 'em shot every year
for their hides, and it's just like the ordinary increase of a big
cattle station. They're all over these plains, and for miles and
miles away down the coast, and in the jungles there's thousands of
'em. There's jungles here that are a hundred miles round, and no
animal but a buffalo will go into 'em. The blacks say that inside
them there's big patches of clear plain, with grass and water, where
there's buffaloes as thick as bees; but you can't get at 'em."
"How do you shoot 'em?" said Hugh.
"Race right up alongside 'em, and put the carbine out with one
hand, and shoot downwards into the loin. That's the only way to
drop 'em. You can shoot bullets into 'em by the hatful everywhere
else, and they just turn and charge; and while you are dodging round,
first you huntin' the buffalo, and then the buffalo huntin' you, the
rest of the mob are out of sight. You must go right up alongside,
close enough to touch 'em with the barrel, and fire down--so." He
illustrated with the carbine as he spoke. "And whatever you do,
don't pull your horse about; he knows the game, if you don't. Never
stop your horse near a wounded buffalo, either. They make a rush
as sudden as lightnin'. They look clumsy and big; but, my oath, a
wounded one can hop along something wonderful! They'll surprise
you for pace any time; but most of all when they're wounded.
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