Let's journey back to an era long past, where the buffalo roamed freely and the plains echoed with the sounds of hunting expeditions. Our featured character for this throwback episode is none other than Jim White, an old hand of buffalo hunting, who exposes the fascinating world of the buffalo hunt and decodes the unique behavior of these majestic beasts. Hold onto your coffee mugs, as Jim's riveting tales from the Old West transport you to the heart of a buffalo campsite, re-creating the sights, sounds, and smells of the hunt, right in your living room.
Experience through Jim's memories, the meticulous campsite preparation, the careful skinning of the buffalo, the curing of hides, and the smoking of the meat. Not just the hard work, but also the camaraderie, the laughter, and the occasional threats that made the camp a memorable experience. Join us as we relive a day in the life of a buffalo hunter, from the crack of dawn to the settling dusk, and soak in the rustic charm and the raw thrill of the Old West. Prepare to be captivated by the spectacular tales spun by Jim White, a master storyteller, and a veteran buffalo hunter. This episode brings to life a time and a way of life that's long past, yet fascinating to the core.
Return of the Great Hunters
Cattle Drives Website
Legends of Dodge City Website
Order Books
Let's journey back to an era long past, where the buffalo roamed freely and the plains echoed with the sounds of hunting expeditions. Our featured character for this throwback episode is none other than Jim White, an old hand of buffalo hunting, who exposes the fascinating world of the buffalo hunt and decodes the unique behavior of these majestic beasts. Hold onto your coffee mugs, as Jim's riveting tales from the Old West transport you to the heart of a buffalo campsite, re-creating the sights, sounds, and smells of the hunt, right in your living room.
Experience through Jim's memories, the meticulous campsite preparation, the careful skinning of the buffalo, the curing of hides, and the smoking of the meat. Not just the hard work, but also the camaraderie, the laughter, and the occasional threats that made the camp a memorable experience. Join us as we relive a day in the life of a buffalo hunter, from the crack of dawn to the settling dusk, and soak in the rustic charm and the raw thrill of the Old West. Prepare to be captivated by the spectacular tales spun by Jim White, a master storyteller, and a veteran buffalo hunter. This episode brings to life a time and a way of life that's long past, yet fascinating to the core.
Return of the Great Hunters
Cattle Drives Website
Legends of Dodge City Website
Order Books
The next day, jim and I rode out six miles and found immense herds of buffalo. Tom Nixon and his partner drove out freighters just to the edge of the herd and waited for our signal. The country was ringed with sandhills covered with coarse grass, affording a fair cover. While crawling on the herds, we found a good location and hid under the banks of the river. This was the day white taught me how to shoot from a stand. Half the fun in killing buffalo was observing their curious actions, said Jim. One day out on a hunt I stuck my hat up and the entire herd gathered around it. They stared at it for hours. We moved a few feet down the riverbank as Jim pointed out a small herd approaching the edge of the creek.
Speaker 1:These creatures had not been given much intelligence. Their stupidity is most remarkable. Jim elaborated. Their dumb, wary brutes and inclined to go off in wild stampedes, have frightened. Almost anything had started stampede. I've seen an old cow placidly grazing, suddenly taking into her head that she was afraid of something. She'd start to run Immediately. Several thousand other buffalo would be running after her. They didn't know why. They didn't know where.
Speaker 1:Jim lowered his voice to a whisper as the herd moved closer to the banks of the river. If one bison gets bogged, a half dozen others are pretty sure to fall in the trap. Now I want you to observe the calves. Jim stopped as I looked over at the herd. A bull was drinking from the creek and the calves ran along the creek bed. The calves are more suspicious than their parents. Bulls have shorter tails than cows. Their tails are bad fly brushes, for they could not hit a fly in a week. Laugh, jim, we watch patiently as the herd approached the bank.
Speaker 1:The old bull in the lead, with the herd strung out behind him there, reached the edge of the bank in Indian file and I could see the bull look carefully up and down the river. It was almost as though he was seeking out any possible danger. We both carried with us our newly purchased Sharp's 50s. It was our weapon of choice. The Sharp's 50 was a single shot lever action breech loader with a one motion cock and fire rifle. Jim showed me how to create a stand made out of a tripod of carved out tree limbs. He prepared a Sharp's 50 caliber by pulling back to lever, lowering the breech lock and inserted a shell directly into the barrel of the gun, then firmly placed the rifle on top of the tripod.
Speaker 1:The lowest on the riverbed stood an old bull. The bull turned his head and looked in our direction. Jim, looking down the barrel of his rifle, whispered to me Now pay close attention. He said. When you take aim, you make an imaginary spot, jim instructed. This spot is vital, for you must judge the distance. Think about how far out you are in the arc of your bullet. Now feel the wind around you. Jim's voice went silent.
Speaker 1:The next sound, after the flash of his muzzle, was the boom of his rifle, echoing through the canyon. The bull was down, hit under the fore shoulder. The force of the bullet was so great the bull pitched dead upon the sands at the brink of the river. Within seconds another burst from Jim's rifle and a calf was hit so hard the bullet screwed its tail as it fell to the grass. Then a third shot hurled from the sharps fifty and hit the second bull. The stricken bull, hit through the lungs, pawed at the ground, threw blood from the nostrils and sank to the ground. The cow next to the calf started running up the river about twenty yards when the fourth shot rang out. The shot was ineffectual. The cow was still running as Jim leveled his rifle and brought her down with the next bullet.
Speaker 1:I looked over and watched Jim wet a cloth from his canteen. He swabbed the hot barrel of his fifty before he fired more rounds out into the range. The big brute stupidly watched, not being alerted by the boom of the rifle. The buffalo fell before us one by one under the sharpshoot and I, jim White. Jim continued to fire a series of rounds. It was when I counted forty buffalo all laid out.
Speaker 1:When Jim jumped in from behind his stand, his wave to Tom Nixon below and shouted that should do it. Jim stood up from the stand, looked directly at me with a tone of pride in his voice. He simply said it's time to do your work, boy. This signal from Jim gave Nixon the go ahead to move the wagons forward to the fallen herd. I watched Nixon and Myers jump from the wagons, pull their razor sharp knives, approach the first down animal and plant and rip the carcass down the belly. Next they made cuts on inside each leg, then around the neck. By the time we reached Nixon and Myers they had a rope tied to the neck of a half skinned bull. A hitch formed around the saddle horn and peeled the beast straight back from head to tail. The three of us continued to skin the down herd. For most of the day Jim remained on higher grounds. He watched for possible threats from Indians who might be in the area. It was late afternoon when all the slain buffalo had been skinned and cut in half.
Speaker 1:Besides the hides, we took the hindquarters for meats for smoking and all the hides had been brought back to camp for curing. The buffalo meat sold for 3 cents a pound and we needed the extra profit just in case our shipment of hides did not pan out. We had a good hunt that day and unloaded the hindquarters camp and dug a hole. The hole was like a grave dug into the ground. Then we placed the hides in the hole with fur towards the earth. The rim of the hide was staked to the edge of the grave, forming a leather vat. We cut the meat into three chunks of ham, sprinkled them with salt, seasoned them with salt Peter, before we threw them into the vat. To protect the meat from the sun, myers and I covered the vat with a stiff hide. We pickled the tongues in a similar way. We soaked meat thoroughly before it was taken out of the vat and cut into smooth pieces. The smooth pieces were strung out along the bare grass. Myers and I then worked on constructing a smokehouse made out of hides to cure the meat we would later deliver to the post.
Speaker 1:Commissary Tom and Jim unloaded the peltz. I took mental note on how they laid out the hides and rows, creating a hide yard. The hides had been spread out flesh side up and holes cut near the edges with a tomahawk. I watched as Tom started to use his knife to cut the holes and the edges of the hides. This is when Jim yelled out we don't have time for that knife, tom, use your pick. Nixon went around with an arm full of pegs and distributed them on the hides. He averaged about 16 pegs to the hide. Nixon and Jim together drove the stakes into the ground and stretched the skins. The hides would remain there until they became as hard as flint. When the fleshy side of the green hide is exposed to the sun, the skin becomes as hard as iron. Jim Nixon sprinkled the hides with poison to finish the process. The poison would keep the bugs out of the hides.
Speaker 1:Next we started our campfire to ready ourselves for the evening meal. The fire crackled in the corner of the campsite, projecting long shadows on the surrounding area. Our biggest concerns were not so much the evening meal but Indians in the area. The campfire was an inviting sight, so I took the first watch. I moved across the stream on the other side of the creek bed and made cover behind a line of trees. There I looked back at the light cast by the flames. The flames danced across the dark trunks of the trees, twisting and curling in obscure shapes, and provided a small radius of light. I settled in against the trunk of a tree and my eyes drifted to the horizon. I looked out into the vast prairie. I watched with an unwavering gaze as fiery red orb of light slowly sank behind the horizon. The threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with the rolling hills. The shadows of buffalo on the range darkened as the sun melted away and darkness took over the sky. I rested with a keen eye, only hearing the camp sounds behind me in the distance.
Speaker 1:It was not long before Jim appeared from out of the shadows of the darkness. He carried with him a tin dinner plate and a tin cup of coffee. I thought you might want this, jim said as he handed me the tin plate and a small cut of buffalo ham, biscuits and beans. I leaned my sharp trifle against the tree and positioned myself to take the plate. Thank you, jim. I said it's a glorious night indeed. We both looked up into the sequined silver stars as the clouds parted, showing through a lustrous urgent disk casting brilliant rays of moonlight onto the dark grounds. That bright moon should help you keep an eye on things. Jim said Enjoy your dinner and Nixon will relieve you in about four hours. Make sure you drink that coffee. It'll help you from falling asleep. Jim turned in the direction of the camp. I watched as he walked away into the dark shadows of the night. His silhouette danced in and out of the campfire as the glowing embers seemed to move in rhythm with the flames matching every dip and sweep. I finished my meal. The beans were good, but I knew at the time the pleasure of them would remain with me for the rest of the night.
Speaker 1:After a few hours on watch, tom relieved me and I returned to our camp where I found Jim awake. He sat next to the fire staring into the orange hue giving way to the yellow and white highlighting his beard A scraggly, thick grain beard. It climbed in his face like raggedy vines. I could see the prominent lines on his face that etched the story of a hard life. He was near the center of the fire where the emanating heat was the greatest. Hey, jim, I said. He looked up at me and turned his attention back to the fire. A slight wind blew through the red ashes. It was like the fire was charming as worries and sending him heavenbound along with the dark smoke. I sat down across the fire from him. I stuck out my hands over the fire and felt the warmth in my numb fingers come alive. I looked through the orange glow of coals and searched Jim's eyes. He looked back at me through the garish fire.
Speaker 1:Tomorrow, when you're out on the hunt, shoot under the buffalo's foreshoulder, giving the ball a slight range forward. This is really the only infallibly vital spot, jim said as he looked up over the fire at me. Tomorrow will be your test If you're a greenhorn and all know it, a greenhorn is good at riddling a buffalo with bullets. Tomorrow I'll know if you're a buffalo runner or just a greenhorn amateur hunter. Jim threw a stick into the fire and rolled out his bedroll. How will you know that? I asked. How can you tell the difference between a buffalo runner and an amateur hunter. Well, that one's easy, jim said as he stretched out on his bedroll and laughed. I'll know that after your first shot. If the buffalo shakes his head as though bumblebees are buzzing around his ears but never drops, then I know you're a greenhorn. If you're a professional, one bullet planted is worth more than a score sent from the gun of an amateur. Jim closed his eyes as the night brought a silence to the cackle of the campfire. I found my bedroll and was fast asleep.
Speaker 1:The next morning, bright and early, we were at work. We found a herd feeding on the prairie within two miles of camp. I crawled on my hands and knees up to the bank of the river. I took a lion position behind some brush where a herd of buffalo approached. The herd was led by a few frisky young calves who broke out over the bank without stopping to explore. I rolled over quickly to stay out of their path. I thought that if I remained my position, the whole bunch had trampled over me. I was now lying in the long grass and saw it was coming as I got to my feet. A stream of buffalo divided and swept to the right and left Through the dust. I saw an old cow's head within three feet and let her have it under the foreshoulder. The impetus with which she was moving was so great that she pitched dead upon the sands at the brink of the river three rods away. I looked over and saw Jim laughing at me. He was in total amusement. I could only imagine what a sight I portrayed.
Speaker 1:I began dodging and shooting the herd as they breached the hill, as if I had commenced a battle between them and they had commenced battle upon me. I wanted to prove myself to Jim that I was a buffalo runner and all I could do at the moment was engage in buffalo dodging. A calf was the next victim. I blazed away at the spike, a three year old bull. The first shot was ineffectual. He ran up the river about a hundred yards. I kept at his heels and brought him down with the second bullet. By this time the bunch was much scattered. Many animals crossed the river and others ran down the stream and regained the bluffs below. Well before noon we had killed twenty seven. In the afternoon, under a darkening sky, we skinned these hides and loaded our wagons.