The life of . e speed of the gallant Fremonts horses would havebeen inadequate to his capture. But the public appetite was craving something tangible fromCol. Fremont. The community was absolutely famishing. Theywere ravenous. They could have swallowed any thing, and like agood genius, I threw them, not a bone, but a regular tit-bit, abon-bon—and they swallowed it at a single gulp! HIS LAST KICK. 351 My agent tried Old Woolly in several of the provincial townswith tolerable success, and finally he was taken to Washingtoncity, to see if the wool could be pulled over the eyes of politi
The life of . e speed of the gallant Fremonts horses would havebeen inadequate to his capture. But the public appetite was craving something tangible fromCol. Fremont. The community was absolutely famishing. Theywere ravenous. They could have swallowed any thing, and like agood genius, I threw them, not a bone, but a regular tit-bit, abon-bon—and they swallowed it at a single gulp! HIS LAST KICK. 351 My agent tried Old Woolly in several of the provincial townswith tolerable success, and finally he was taken to Washingtoncity, to see if the wool could be pulled over the eyes of was successfully done for several days, when Col. Benton, everregardful of the reputation of his son-in-law, caused my agent tobe arrested on a grand-jury complaint for obtaining from himtwenty-five cents under false pretences, and the Senator from Mis-souri testified, that having no mention of this horse in any of thenumerous letters received from his son-in-law, he was sure never saw the Such testimony could not prove a negative. The complaint wasruled out, and Old Woolly came off victorious. The excitementwhich Col. Benton unconsciously produced added materially to thereceipts for the succeeding few days. But, always entertaining thegreatest respect for Old Bullion, and out of regard to his feelings,I ordered the horse back to Bridgeport, where in due time he gavehis last kick. For some time, however, he was turned loose in a field lying onthe public road, where occasional New-York patrons recognizedtheir woolly friend in his retirement. 352 thjs heed or buffaloes. The Buffalo Hunt.—I attended the great Bunker Hill cele-bration, June 17, 1843, and heard Mr. Websters oration. I foundexhibiting near the monument, under an old canvas tent, a herd ofcalf buffaloes a year old. There were fifteen in number, and Ipurchased the lot for $700. I had an idea in my head which, if Icould carry it out, would make the buffaloes a profitable invest-ment, an
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