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of trees, crashing through saplings, snapping off branches like matchwood. Jak's horse
neighed in a mad panic, and as he tried to align the sights of his blaster with the shaggy
skull, his mount reared, its forelegs slashing the air wildly.
The buffalo's curved horns missed the horse's belly by a hairbreadth. Jak felt himself
slipping from the saddle, and he kicked himself free of the stirrups, trying to land on his
feet. He managed to hit the turf upright, but he stumbled and went to one knee.
The buffalo came to a sudden, dirt-flinging halt, whirled and charged. He raised his
blaster, sighted coolly and calmly and squeezed the trigger. The Colt Python boomed
with its characteristically full, deep-throated sound.
Nothing happened. The buffalo didn't falter. It lowered its head and charged on. Even as
the echoes of the shot rang in the air, a wedge of a huge, woolly shoulder clipped Jak as
he tried to leap aside.
The impact jarred the breath out of him, and he slammed down on his left side, rolling
over and over. When he came to a stop, he was gasping for air, utterly astounded he was
still alive. He hurt too much to be dead.
He had kept his grip on the Colt, and he tried to push himself to his feet. The buffalo
veered, turned and began another charge. Jak could see a splash of blood on the beast's
shaggy skull where the dense bone had partially deflected the first round. He aimed his
blaster at it.
Joe galloped around the stand of trees and placed his pony squarely in the maddened
bull's path. He placed the stock of the Gewehr against his shoulder and cheek and fired,
then he kneed his horse out of the way.
A new splotch of blood had appeared on the skull. The bull thundered on for another
second, then its forelegs folded and it skidded forward, sledding along the marshy ground
like a down-sliding boulder. It left a wide, scoured path in its wake, turf rolling up before
it like a strip of carpet. The buffalo came to a grinding stop less than six feet from Jak's
position.
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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden
Throwing one leg up and over his pony's head, Joe dismounted and approached the
buffalo. Its dark, humped form was slumped over, looking like a shaggy, debilitated
volcano.
Examining the wound, Joe remarked, "A head shot is something of a break with tradition,
but at least only one bullet brought him down."
Walking over to the dead bull, Jak said, "Two."
Joe glanced up at him. "What?"
Extending a pair of fingers, Jak repeated, "Two." He pointed to himself, then to Joe.
"One. Two."
"Your bullet did not bring it down, therefore it cannot be counted." Joe's tone brooked no
debate.
"You keeping score?" Jak demanded. "Like contest?"
"All life is a contest, young man. Past time you learned that."
Jak glared at the Lakota, then he quickly raised his blaster. Joe recoiled, fumbling to bring
up his weapon, eyes wide with sudden fear. Jak's blaster continued to rise, over his head,
and he fired two shots into the air.
"Signal," he said. "Two bullets. You lose two points for flinching."
Joe's lips tightened, then he muttered something in his own tongue and turned his
attention to the buffalo. Stripping down to his breechclout, Joe removed his pack of
possessions from his pony and withdrew a very long skinning knife from a fur-lined
sheath. It had no hilt, and the steel blade widened and curved slightly toward the tip.
After recovering his horse, Jak watched the butchering process with an expressionless
face but an interested eye. The difficulty with butchering the buffalo was that it could
neither be hanged and dressed like a deer nor turned onto its back. Lashing ropes to the
buffalo's legs and knotting them around his pony's neck, Joe then backed up his steed
until the legs were pulled and braced outward.
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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden
By the time Jak saw his friends riding toward them across the plain, Joe had already made
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