Here is a quote from a good old book I just had the privilege of reading, and it gives an insight into our buffalo and the history of the Northern Territory:

"So we carried on each day, averaging about ten beasts without the slightest mishap. Then came a day when the buffaloes disappeared, and it turned out to be one of tragic memory. Leaving Whittaker at camp and taking Big Head, I set out to try and locate them. Big Head was an experienced buffalo-shot, and I had given him Dinah and a gun. If we came across the herd, it was my intention to get as many as possible there and then.

Some twelve miles away in the direction of Munganilida, we found them. We advanced at the gallop, and the buffaloes took to their heels. I had taken one flank and Big Head the other, and we soon overtook the herd. I brought down six bulls in quick succession, and by the shots on my left I guessed that Big Head was meeting with equal success. My wing then swung into the trees, and as it was hopeless to attempt to follow them, I turned, to gallop back to the other wing.

Then in a flash tragedy descended. Big Head was alongside a huge buffalo; as he fired, Dinah side-stepped suddenly to avoid an ant-hill, but crashed into it, throwing Big Head heavily, and coming down herself. The shot had not been fatal; it felled the buffalo, but he was soon on his feet again, snorting with rage. The great beast pawed the ground for a moment, then charged the fallen black.

He got his horns underneath Big Head and tossed him high in the air, and the boy's scream of agony and terror was terrible. Big Head fell to the ground, the blood spurting from him. The buffalo charged again, and with knees and horns, crushed and gored the life out of him.

For the moment I seemed rooted to the ground. But it all happened in a flash, and when I galloped up Big Head was dead. I pulled the heavy .45 revolver from the holster and poured shot after shot into the buffalo until he rolled over lifeless.

A few yards away beautiful Dinah stood with her near foreleg hanging and broken. I shot her, with tears in my eyes.

I rode back and told Whittaker and Koperaki what had occured, and we got a party and set out to gather the remains of the unfortunate Big Head.

At the scene of the slaughter, I wondered grimly if I would be held responsible for the death of Big Head. Koperaki, however, seemed to size up the situation. WIth a tomahawk he hacked away at the buffalo until blood lapped our feet. "Debil-debil belonga buffalo killem dead Big Head," he said. And I knew he did not blame me. He tenderly collected the torn and broken body of his comrade and wrapped it in paper-bark.

That night a burial ceremony was held, and the wailings and lamentations were louder and more full of grief than I had ever heard.

I thought how fortunate Whittaker was when the buffalo gored his horse instead of him. And I realised that either of us might any day come to the same end as poor Big Head."