The Plainsman

The Plainsman the story of the BUFFALO

He was a weathered Old Plainsman, a solemn old gent with a long, black beard that fluttered and fretted from a fitful prairie wind. He drew a grunting breath and snorted back into an overhead shield of solid blue. Side whiskers blew against his cheeks while he focused attention on a caravan of tiny, white patches in the distance.

He pondered in bewilderment upon the toiling Con-estogas as they crept along. More wagon trains were pul-sating with alarming frequency farther westward across his prairies.

In placid unconcern, he hunched his tremendous shoulders, and lumbered down the trail. If he had become alarmed it wouldn't have done any good, for the Old Plainsman was our American Bison, soon to be dispossessed of his ancestral homestead. How could he know most of his kin east of the Mississippi had already succumbed?

Those generous, expendable relatives had furnished meat and succor for the pioneers. They had provided fuel when there were no trees. They had led the way to obscure waterholes. Obligingly, they had blazed trails through mountains. They had clothed the infiltrating settlers with warm robes when there was cold and snow.

They had given everything to this exploiting host, and, for such benevolence, the only appreciation the Old Plainsman ever received was an engraved likeness on our nickel.

Text and Photographs WILLIS PETERSON OPPOSITE PAGE “BUFFALO PORTRAIT” BY WILLIS PETERSON. A huge mammal, the bull bison or buffalo can easily tip the scale at a ton or more. Savage armament combined with Herculean strength make the Plainsman a most formidable adversary. Though normally docile, his temperament is exceedingly quick to change. Photographed with a 508mm telephoto lens, 31/4 x 41/4 Speed Graphic, 1/70th sec. at f. 1 1, Ektachrome film.

It was Cortez who, in 1521, first commented for the world upon the bison. The following whimsical and perhaps naive remarks were inspired by a buffalo kept at the Mexican capital by Montezuma, the Aztec monarch: "The greatest Rarity the Mexican Bull; a wonderful composition of divers animals. It has crooked Shoulders with a Bunch on its Back like a Camel; its Flanks dry, its Tail large, and its Neck cover'd with Hair like a Lion. It is cloven footed, its Head armed like that of a Bull, which it resembles in Fierceness, with no less strength and Agility."

Twenty years later, during his fruitless search for the seven mythical, golden cities of Cibola, Coronado and his entourage were the first Europeans to witness the immense sity of the North American mammalian spectacle. Massed upon the Central Plains, tens of thousands of bison plodded in unison as though they were one composite animal. The whole world seemed to move in a brown, hairy coat, punctuated by shiny, curved horns. The Spaniards halted in disbelief. Though they had come upon many small herds as they made their way north from what now is the Mexican border, they were not prepared to encounter such overwhelming legions.

"They were like fishes of the sea," Coronado's chief scribe, Pedro de Castenada, quilled in awe. He commented in another portion of his journal after the expedition surprised a herd near a small canyon, "As these fled they trampled one another in their haste until they came to a ravine. So many of the animals fell into this that they filled it up, and the rest went across on top of them. Themen who were chasing them on horseback fell in among the animals without noticing where they were going. Three of the horses that fell in among the cows, all saddled and bridled, were lost sight of completely."

An incredible description, but no more astonishing than later accounts. Eyewitnesses mention masses of bison so immense that it took the multitudes more than two days to ford the Platte and Missouri Rivers. One report issued a century ago by U. S. Calvary Officer General Phil Sheridan tells of riding for one hundred miles between Fort Supply, Oklahoma Territory, to Fort Dodge, Kansas, through a deluge of migrating bison. The men estimated they had encountered a herd of one hundred million. Luke Voorehees, a territorial official of Wyoming, said that he had ridden through a herd, or series of herds, which stretched across the horizon for as far as he could see. Reports of drifting bison ten to twenty miles across and thirty to fifty miles long were not uncommon. Their vast numbers and close association with frontier life is humorously gleaned from this military order issued at Fort Riley, Kansas, on October 29, 1842. Item No. 1: "Members of the Command will, when shooting at buffaloes on the parade ground, be careful not to fire in the direction of the Commanding Officer's quarters."

Item No. 3: "Student officers will discontinue the practice of roping and riding buffaloes."

Unfortunately, no accurate means to approximate their numbers was ever devised. Sixty-five to seventy-five millions seem to be figures which naturalists believe once roamed this country. A form of wild cattle, the buffalo were the most numerous mammal species the modern world has ever known. A close cousin, the Aurochs, now almost extinct, inhabits forests of Eastern Europe. While scientists referred to this new North American mammal as Bison bison, the word buffalo became firmly entrenched. It derived from the French word boeufs, meaning bulls. Father Hennepin's published report of 1693 calls them "les boeufs." Other early French explorers also used this term because of the bison's strength and likeness to oxen. English speaking settlers corrupted it to buffles, buffler and buffalo. Large herds were actually made up of thousands of small groups. Each company had its patriarchal bull, old pretenders, young bulls, old cows, heifers and calves. Sexes usually kept together throughout most of the year. Like many gregarious species, the wisest cows accepted the honor of leading the bands. Migration was a massive affair. As winter approached, buffalo in the Far North traveled, perhaps, as far as two to four hundred miles southward and thus created grazing pressure against adjacent herds. Other droves would also be pressed to travel southward. Thus, the whole buffalo population of the Central Plains would sway south in fall and then surge northward in the spring.

In wide-open House Rock Valley

In their nomadic search for fresh pastures, they traveled in single file, forming long narrow paths, still trace-able in many places. Later, wagon trains and railroads used these trails because buffalo always chose easiest gradients for travel. Much of the Union Pacific Railroad beds through the Platte Valley and on to the Rockies, for example, were laid out upon bison paths, later followed by survey engineers. Despite the animal's weight and apparent clumsiness, they swam rivers with ease and climbed about mountains with remarkable surety. The largest mammal in the Americas, a full grown bull stands about six feet at the shoulders, and is perhaps ten to twelve feet long. Eighteen hundred pounds is average, though specimens of more than twenty-four hundred pounds have been recorded. Bulls have a heavy neck and a massive, exceedingly broad head, which is normally carried low. Horns curve outward and upward from each side of the forehead. Forequarters stand much higher than haunches. Spines rise from back vertebrae, giving attach-ment to huge muscles, which form the hump and are necessary for support of the neck and head. Rib cage carries fourteen ribs instead of the usual thirteen found in cattle.

A mop of long, shaggy hair covers forehead, nearly hiding ridiculously small eyes. From throat and chin hang side whiskers and beard, especially prominent in bulls. Unlike cattle which drift with storms, buffalo face into the elements and high winds. Long growth of hair on neck, shoulders and forelegs acts as an insulation buffer against winter's icy and sleety blasts. This wool-like hair is unique in that it can be spun into yarn much like domestic wool and then woven into cloth. Shedding began in the spring, leaving the animals, particularly males, in tattered disarray. From head to shoul-ders, long streamers of wool hung in great, ragged patches. Loose, matted wool was a source of great discomfort, as well as displeasure, for the bulls would hook into the turf, tearing out huge chunks of sod, and then roll in the newly made depressions. Abrasive action of soil and grass roots helped to alleviate constant itching.

Pioneers looked upon these wallows with mixed emotions. Depressions were so numerous in certain areas that wagoners found it difficult to maneuver their teams, but the wallows did provide a measure of protection during Indian encounters. Where prairies were level for miles, any abrupt change in terrain could be used to advantage defensively.

The Old Plainsman and his fellows had a singular one-track mind, for whatever they did, they did it all at one time and with all their might. Should two or three become frightened, the lead cows started off at a trot, then all galloped into a roaring, thundering stampede. When a few started for water, all followed. When the leaders began to graze, all grazed. When all were content they lay down, usually resting with their noses to windward.

Keen nostrils glistened with moisture which helped to pick up myriad scents carried upon the prairie breeze. Life span seemed to be from fifteen to twenty-five years according to studies of horn development. It took about seven years for the bull to come into his prime.

A tremendously strong animal, it was no effort for the Old Plainsman to hit a horse and rider, throwing them over his shoulder and galloping with this burden a hundred yards before slamming them into the ground. When he was wont to fight or had to defend himself, he lowered his muzzle until his nose almost touched the ground. Cock-ing his head so that he could see his enemy better, he tore at the ground with horns and hoofs. Suddenly his tail went up, and he charged vehemently into battle.

In this attitude, angled, deadly armament pointed forward, signifying a dismal end for enemies that lay in way of their death-flailing sweep. He could hook a wolf, throw him twenty or thirty feet, and then repeat it with lightning-like heaves, his bulky weight quickly and efficiently jockeyed by remarkably slim, agile legs. The grizzly was probably the only animal that ever stood up to the bull buffalo. Even at that, the Plainsman offered better odds.

With the coming of the rutting season, herd bulls began to voice displeasure for each other and the air filled with a lowing, guttural grunt. Sod went flying as the behemoths faced each other.

Shaking, angry, and snorting the bulls lunged forward and crunched together in skull bruising collisions that would have instantly flattened lesser combatants. After initial contact, the duel developed into a furious shoving battle. Their one thought was to fell their opponent.

Forming horns FOLLOWING PANEL

"BUFFALO FAMILY GATHERING" BY WILLIS PETERSON. The six weeks old buffalo calf presents a striking difference in color by comparison with his parents. It will take about seven years before the Little Plainsman will develop into the image of his huge sire. Ektachrome film, 1/100th sec., at f.11, 508mm telephoto lens on 31/4 x 41/4 Speed Graphic.

The Sharps Rifle

The classic “Leadslinger” of professional buffalo hunters who demanded accuracy and power capable of great shock power and penetration.

Surprisingly, these engagements were quite noiseless except for a blatant, snorting clamor. Unlike the crashing antlered war din of wapiti, the buffalo's thick wool provided sufficient padding to deaden much of the sound. The battle-beaten and gored bull usually kept to himself, staying at the edge of the herd until he became too old to keep up. His end came quickly from predators which were always following close by.

In fighting for supremacy of their bands, old leaders were constantly being dethroned by younger and more vigorous aspirants. Best sires were continually selected by law of combat, keeping the race at its highest perfection. Predators also assured the herd of greater strength by constantly eliminating the stragglers, infirm and weaklings. Thus, the buffalo were also left singularly free of disease.

dering on orange. In about two months the calf's hump began to be quite noticeable, though high shoulder development at birth differentiated it from the calf of domestic cattle. Like most newborn, its day was filled with romp and play, but it had to be exceedingly strong to withstand rigors of herd life.

If the calf arrived during time of drought, he had to be able to walk great distances almost immediately after birth to keep up with his mother while she looked for new pastures. If he were born before the herd forded a stream, he had to be able to cross with the mature animals. If he lagged behind the patriarchal clan, coyotes and wolves and lesser predators which always followed would devour him. In short, the little Plainsman had to be strong and able, and with precious little help. His was a herd life, When winter howled in numbing blasts over the buffalo herds, predators became vicious stalkers, particularly at night. If attack from starving wolves loomed, bulls would form into a circle. Ominous curved buttresses of glowering heads crowned in lethal horns faced the enemy. While bulls and old cows drove off the assault, calves and young heifers remained within safety of the oval bulwark. What a picture it must have been to see this defensive rampart of massed muscle and horned energy. Caught byhorns and tossed into the air, the wolves usually fell again upon those impaling, curved pikes. Dawn revealed battle carnage of torn bodies and bloddy, shredded fur. Attacks occurred frequently in severe winters.

Later, during calving season, the cow was more dangerous than the bull. Inconsistent and temperamental to begin with, she was hell on hoofs when her calf was in peril. Her tail went up, her head went down and she bore down with murderous intent upon the marauder.

A calf was usually born in May and June, but unlike its swarthy parents it was ocre in coloration, almost bor-bred to herd instincts, but he was helpless without protection from the herd.

For the most part, the Central Plains were the bison's stronghold a vast sea of grass with entwined roots gripping deep into prairie sod thousands of years old. The grasses spanned North America from the Alleghenies to the Rockies, and reached roughly from the Gulf of Mexico to the Great Slave Lake of the Arctic.

These millions upon millions of square miles provided an ecological life pyramid of grasses, bison, and Indian inter-dependence. The grass formed the pyramid's base, while the buffalo became its sides and supported, in turn, the Plains Indians, who were the apex of this triangular balance. For, wherever the best grass grew, thither went the buffalo; and wherever the bison went, the Indian followed.

Indeed, the bison served the Indian well. They ate his meat raw and they ate it cooked. They dried it for jerky and made pemmican from choice cuts. Bones became cooking implements, awls, needles and knives.

Sinews were drawn into coarse thread and thongs for sturdier binding. From wool-like manes, girls and women wove gowns, shawls, belts, and even fine kerchiefs. The hide became, in turn, tepee sheath, canoe covering, and tough, resilient war shields. Finer skins were miraculously tanned into leggings, breeches, jerkins, moccasins and robes.

Even horns had their usefulness. Largest were employed in religious ceremonies while others furnished household utensils and tough fibre for bow backing. Hoofs were simmered into glue to facilitate binding tomahawk and lance heads to their shafts.

Too, the Old Plainsman made it hard on himself by being downright ornery. In happy contentment he rubbed down miles and miles of telegraph poles, and when his favorite back scratchers were spiked to keep him away telegraphers found to their dismay that armored poles were more popular masseurs than ever with the shaggy beasts. There were even cases where he arrived at a lonely cabin or homestead and pushed all the buildings to the ground to alleviate a frightful itch.

He often stampeded through cattle drives, making it impossible to find lost stock. When he chose to ford the Missouri, steam boat captains hove to, closed down the Economy of the plains was based entirely upon these seemingly endless herds, providing the Indian with a common market. Even with constant hunting by these tribes, bison never declined.

Then the white man came the pyramid began to totter.

Our pioneers plodded over the Alleghenies, and they passed through Cumberland Gap. They trudged down the Ohio Valley with wagons and oxen. They poled down the Mississippi with flat boats. They pushed westward in ever increasing numbers until the pyramid toppled, shattering forever the old triangular balance of life.

By 1820, buffalo were practically nonexistent east of the Mississippi. One was killed in 1830 in Wisconsin, and this is thought to be the last wild buffalo taken east of the river. After the century's halfway mark, buffalo hunting began in earnest on the Central Plains.

The bison's prodigious numbers contributed to their demise. There were so many that no one thought of them as worthwhile. They were a nuisance they were a hindrance. They were identified with the enigma of the Indian, and, thus, they must be destroyed.

engine room and brought up the crew. Wielding long poles, they fought to push him away lest he drift or swim into paddle wheels, smashing them to bits. He contested the railroad's right-of-way, taking on coaches and engine in boiler-to-horn combat. Many an old iron horse went back to Kansas City yards with boiler and steam chests embossed by the Old Plainsman's solid bit of horn branding.

When legislation was presented to protect the buffalo it was shelved. One bill introduced by a representative of Illinois was passed by the House, ratified by the Senate, only to be pigeon-holed by President Grant. His underlying thought was the more rapid extinction of the buffalo the more rapid extinction of the Indian.

General Phil Sheridan in 1875 went before the Texas assembly of the House and Senate, saying that it was sentimental hogwash to protect buffalo. Instead they should give the hunters a unanimous vote of thanks and present each man with a bronze medal. By destroying the Indian's roving commissary, the hide hunters had done more to settle the Indian question than the Army had done in thirty years. With the General's remarks no further thought was given to save the few remaining bison. Hide hunting went on unabated.

The hide hunter was a breed of his own. Successful ones had their own retinue of helpers, skinners and camp tenders. All depended upon the chief hunter's skill with gun as well as his knowledge of "buffler." Usually, his weapon was a Sharp's rifle, a heavy piece of armament known as the big "50." New, it cost about $100 even in those days.

Locating his buffler, the hider studied herd actions from down wind. Quickly guessing who were lead animals, he propped his Sharp's in a forked stick and began a methodical shooting. If terrain didn't provide cover for prone firing, he rode horseback straight into the churning multitude and blasted away as fast as he could. When his gun became too hot one of his helpers handed him a second rifle and when it, too, became too hot for accurate fire the first was returned.

With leaders shot, a skillful rifleman could drop thirty to fifty more animals before the remainder would stampede. Skinners then fell to work by first cutting a longitudinal cut along the belly with a heavy buffler knife. Hastily hitching a team of horses, they peeled back the hide from its body mooring. While skinner and partner "busted" tail for the next fallen animal, peggers stretched the first hide by staking it into the ground. Flesh and fat were then scraped away.

Hides brought from $2 to $4 apiece at Dodge City, granted by solemn assurance of the U. S. Government to the Indians "as long as grass grew and water ran." The government also promised to see that no white man settled or molested game animals on these grounds. Rightfully, Sioux tribal chiefs feared the railroad would bring about the end of their treaty.

It did.

After the Custer Battle, Northern Pacific shipped out 500,000 hides in 1881; 200,000 in 1882; 40,000 in 1883; and in 1884 300. And this about ends the story of our wild buffalo on the Central Plains.

Museums throughout the nation by this time became quite concerned that there were so few mounted habitat Kansas, where in the 1870's half of the settlement was in some way connected with buffalo robe business. Hiders, as well as outfitters, made fortunes overnight in Abilene, Dodge, Cheyenne, and Fort Worth. At the Union Pacific siding in Cheyenne, a warehouse 175 feet long and 60 feet wide was constantly being filled with skins as others were shipped East. In Fort Worth, 200,000 hides sold in a day.

Probably the best known hunter of all time was Buffalo Bill Cody. Hired as a meat supplier for the sledge swinging appetite of Kansas and Pacific Railroad construction gangs, Cody's total kill for eighteen months came to 4280 animals. For a $500 bet he shot sixty-nine bison in less than eight hours.

The wholesale killing of buffalo caused the Indians to smear on their war paint. It didn't take much imagination for them to foresee their doom along with the doom of the buffalo-actually the underlying cause for the battle of Little Big Horn where Sitting Bull annihilated Custer.

Northern Pacific surveying crews had violated promises made by the Federal Government providing the Sioux with their own hunting grounds. It had been groups of buffalo for display purposes. In 1887, the American Museum of Natural History organized an expedition to obtain several specimens.

If it were not so tragic it would have been funny. A task which should not have caused hardship became one of the most discouraging expeditions ever conceived by this Institution. Scientists searched diligently for months in Montana, Wyoming, and Dakota country without finding an animal. Just a few years prior, it was prime buffalo range where thousands roamed.

The Museum finally resorted to buying a couple of skins from Montana cowboys, for there were no wild buffalo to be found. In all, the expedition spent two years on this project, finally purchasing seven skins. Some were from animals which had died in captivity.

Suddenly public attention focused on the fact that buffalo were practically extinct. Subscriptions and donations to provide habitat and herd stock were promoted. At last, Congress realized the buffalo was a unique North American animal.

Though almost too late, a protective bill was signed into law in May, 1894 by President Grover Cleveland:

The first safeguard given buffalo by the U. S. Government. It stated that it was unlawful to kill bison in Yellowstone Park, and carried a $1000 fine or imprisonment. Considered from today's viewpoint it was a seemingly incongruous measure, but poaching in the Park had reduced the herd to only 29 animals. There were now less than 900 bison left in the U. S.

The establishment of the Yellowstone herd nucleus was due largely to efforts and perseverance of Col. Charles J. Jones who was appointed Park warden in 1902. "Buffalo Jones," as he had become known, dealt in buffalo like ranchers dealt in cattle. They were so much in demand now that traders could get as much as $1000 a head. For the wealthy, it became fashionable to keep a buffalo or two as curiosities.

Desire to spread and promote more areas for the conservation of buffalo was Jones' passion. And, in this respect, he now turned toward Arizona. He appeared in the frontier border town of Kanab, Utah, in 1905 and made it known that, "under auspices of Federal Game Reserves he had come to look over Arizona's Kaibab Plateau in regard to future stocking of buffalo."

On this inspection trip, Edwin D. Wooley, and Earnest Pratt, both ranchers along the Utah-Arizona line, accompanied Jones. Pratt furnished a wagon and horses for the journey, which took several days. The three men wound through the Kaibab's lush, green parks lined with aspen and jolted over waving grass savannas sloping to lower ridges in adjacent House Rock Valley. Jones became quite taken with the potential offered by this range in respect to his buffalo stocking program. By the second day he had decided this was ideal, for here was both winter and summer grass, depending on the altitude.

Outlining plans to his companions, Jones also related his cherished ambition to develop a new breed of livestock: a cross between domestic Galloway cattle and buffalo. He had already done considerable experimenting with these animals, developing several hybrids, at his ranch near Garden City, Kansas.

These "cattalo," as he called them, could withstand drought and exist on coarser fare than cattle. Besides providing superior meat products, they would also produce abundant wooly hair of buffalo, which could be sheared and woven into woolens. In short, they would be a combination of all good points with none of the adverse characteristics of either breed.

By the time the men were bouncing back over limestone caprock toward Kanab, all were fired by the new venture in developing the cattalo. The new partnership, of which Jones became president and Pratt vice president, called for Jones to do promotional work by going on a lecture tour in the East. Besides touting Grand Canyon as a scenic marvel, he would also dwell upon the Kaibab Game Preserve and nearby buffalo range where the new commercial experimentations of breeding buffalo with the domestic cattle were being conducted.

Apparently Jones was quite successful in selling stock, for he soon purchased a number of buffalo from the Good-night herd located at Palo Duro Ranch in the Panhandle of Texas. A few more came from Montana by way of his Garden City Ranch. James T. Owens, who afterward became quite well known throughout Arizona as Uncle Jimmy, accompanied Jones from Texas. It was his job to ride herd on the newly planted buffalo and otherwise care for them.

Bison were transported in two shipments. In July, 1905, thirty to forty head arrived double first class at Lund, Utah, about eighty miles north from St. George.

OPPOSITE PAGE

"BUFFALO GRAZING" BY WILLIS PETERSON. Buffalo were trail herded into Arizona during the early 1900's. Since then they have multiplied and generally have done very well in their adopted Arizona. Photographed with a 508mm telephoto lens, 31/4 x 41/4 Speed Graphic, 1/100th sec. at f. 11, Ektachrome film.

"A HERD FOLLOWING THE GRASS" BY WILLIS PETERSON. Of the two buffalo herds managed by the Arizona Game and Fish Department, the Kaibab range gives the photographer the best chance for pictures, particularly when the summer rains have transformed the dusty prairies into green pastures. Photographed with a 508mm telephoto lens, 31/4 x 41/4 Speed Graphic, 1/100th sec. at f. 8, Ektachrome film.

Eighty-seven more head were also shipped to Lund early in 1906. Chuted out of reinforced stock cars and railroad tie corrals, they started the long trail drive to the Kaibab and Houre Rock Valley.

It was approximately 200 miles as the crow flies, 400 as the cattle go, and it must have seemed like a thousand miles to the weary cowhands as they hazed their inconsistent, temperamental, always stabborn charges southward. Their trail traversed desert, wound through mountains, and fought over jagged canyons.

No one had attempted to trail herd buffalo this distance before, but these cowboys, cussing and sweating and thinking themselves plumb loco, managed to snake their buffler slowly down through Utah. They panted across the Escalante Desert, slipped by Cedar City, skirted Toquerville and tracked through Rattlesnake Gap. They forded the wild Virgin River, scrambled over the Vermillion Clifts near Hurricans and blew into Arizona. Easier going now, they plowed through the Arizona Strip, passed Short Creek, and watered at Pipe Springs, then thankfully moseyed to the base of the Buckskin Mountatos to bed down for the rest of the winter. Later, in the spring of 1906, they trailed south again, and headed for House Rock Valley where the buffalo would have their main range.

When Uncle Jimmy determined the buffalo were established well enough to fare for themselves with a minimum amount of herding, the cattle were brought in. Investors watched with unconcealed excitement, but their hopes soon began to dwindle.

The cattlemen forgot to consider the buffalo bull had a definite mind of his own, particularly in picking a spouse. As an all-American male, he insisted on his druthers. Though the buffalo and Galloway heifers grazed together, they usually remained in their own clique. Besides social indifference, it became apparent there was a serious, unalterable, biological obstacle. The hump of the calf made it extremely difficult for the Galloway cow to carry the young even though gestation periods were the same. In some cases, it took surgical help to deliver the newbom. Such unexpected difficulties caused the venture to be abandoned as silently as possible. Quite a number had 'stock in the enterprise. One local, prominent cowman, B. F. Saunders, had thrown $5000 into the cattie kitty.

To liquidate the company, cattle and buffalo were divided among major contributors. Jones, Uncle Jimmy and Saunders wound up with most of the buffalo. In 1909 Jones shipped out his share to Fort Sumner, New Mexico, which ended his experimentations in cross breeding bison.

Owens stayed on in the Kaibab and House Rock Valley and cared for the remaining animals. While doing this he began to make quite a colorful name for himself as a sportsman's guide and big game hunter throughout Northern Arizona. Later, he acquired complete interest from Saunders, and then sold all the buffalo, in 1927, to the State of Arizona for $10,000. By that time there were more than one hundred head.

Much of this money was subscribed by Arizona sports men who bought donation tickets for $2 apiece in order to perpetuate the buffalo herd for future Arizonans in the 100,000 acre House Rock Valley range.

Since the initial purchase, the Arizona Game and Fish Department has expanded its buffalo management to include Raymosid Ranch, thirty-five miles somheast of Flagstaff. This buffalo range includes 15.340 square acres, comprising prairies and scrub juniper cover. A third buf falo preserve had to be abandoned when the U. S. Army reactivated and expanded Fort Huachuca in 1954. Sur plus animals were moved to Raymond Ranch, given to the Mexican State of Sonora, and the balance disposed of in a special hunt.

Every fell the Game Department holds a season on harvestable animals, alternating hunts each year between House Rock and Raymond Ranch. Aside from game man agement, the City of Flagstaff plans to establish an exhibi tion pasture of wildlife which will contain a number of Bison. This will give the state three buffalo herds.

A strange thing about the planting of buffalo in Ari zona, is that it was one of the few states in the U.S. where there apparently were no native. bison. There is no men tion of buffalo in any of the early pioneer accounts of Arsona travel that this writer can find.

However, these is plenty of evidence that prehistoric bison lived in Arizona and other parts of the South west. In 1898 Professor W. T. Biade discovered born cores of an extinct species thirty miles southeast of Tucson. This ancient bison (Bison latifrons) was of tremendons size with horns measuring up to seven feet across.

Other locations in Arizona where fogils have been discovered are Keams Canyon, Shato Springs and Wil cox. Bison antiquus, the immediate predecessor to our modern bison, followed the latifrons species. Bison antiquus is associated with the woolly memmoth, the. ssbre-toothed cat, and the Folsom man of New Mexico. Why these prehistocie bison suddenly disappeared is a mystery. However, fluctuations of the ice age apparently were underlying causes.

As far as our present buffalo are concerned, the Rocky Mountains traversing north and south through New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming and Montana remained an effective eastward barrier as the ice sheets receded. To the north, the Colorado. River, ever grinding deeper and deeper, tore out a gorge which would have been well-nigh impossible for buffalo to cross. These two physical bar ziers could very well have kept the modern bison from entering Arizona in recent geological times.

It's ironic, perhaps, that the white man did his damnedest to rid America of the buffalo erily three gen arations ago, and now a portion of our State and Federal taxes goes to support the well-being of America's most indigenous animal. Thank goodness, he is still the venerable Old Plains man whether the scene is the Central Plaine of Amexica or the grass-covered shoulders of the Kalbab in Arizoria.