That picture of Frank Miller was taken on the bison hunting concession right after a near death experience. We freakishly saved each other's lives that day. Recalling that chilling experience still raises marble-sized goosepimples all over my body.
After riding four or five hours, we located a magnificent bull. A carefully planned stalk up a deep aroyo placed us well within range. My rangefinder said we were only 27 yards away. It seemed closer as all we could see was brown hair!
Frank put several well placed rounds into the big bull and by all rights the bull should have keeled over dead. It seemed like all the bullets did was to "put him out" and this anger was now directed to us.
Frank's Shiloh Sharps .45-70 rifle jambed just as the bull began to charge. Frank froze, as any normal person would. I will never fault him for this. It was just a typical reaction that many people have to a life-threatening situation.
The bull lowered his head as he ran to gore Frank. Just as he was about to hook Mr. Miller's guts skyward, I shoved Frank aside, grabbed a handful of brown hair on his hump and swung up on him. Unfortunately, when I shoved Frank out of his path, I lost the grip on my rifle and there I was -- up on top of this monster of the plains without a rifle!
At that point I only had my skinning knife at hand. I pulled it from the sheath, leaned over on his neck and plunged it into where i hoped it would find his jugular vein. It did as i felt the warm blood flush over my right hand. I knew at it was just a matter of time till he bled out and died. I breathed a deep sigh of relief that proved to almost cost me my life.
Seeking revenge for the bullets and knife, he suddenly reared up like a horse and pitched backwards, trying to shake me off his back. The loss of blood must have weakened him as he lost his balance and fell sharply to the right.
It all happened so fast that I was unable to get away and he pinned my right leg under his torso. As I lay pinned on the ground under this monster, he still wanted to kill me. He kept hooking his head backwards trying to get me with his right horn.
I screamed at Frank who had now gathered himself. He managed to find my .375 h and h magnum and approached the bull. I screamed at him to shoot him in the head and not shoot me! I still don't know how he did it, but he managed to get a round off behind the ear and the bull stopped his writhing.
Well now I was out of danger but trapped under the bull in the middle of nowhere. Frank managed to gather up our horses and loop a lariat around the bull's horns. At the age of 21, this was to be my paint horse, Geronimo, last bison season. With Frank leading him and me encouraging him through the pain shooting up my leg, the old paint horse somehow managed to drag that 2,100 pound bull off of me!
Well, the rest is pretty much a matter of county record. The Flight for Life helicopter managed to get me into town where they worked on my leg. They did a good job although occasionally when it rains you may seem me limp a little.
This picture was actually taken the next day after I got released from the hospital. Frank looks jovial as well he should after the bottle of Wild Turkey.
Sorry to have taken such a long road to tell a forgotten story, but now you know why Frank and I have such a bonding with each other.
That picture of Frank Miller was taken on the bison hunting concession right after a near death experience. We freakishly saved each other's lives that day. Recalling that chilling experience still raises marble-sized goosepimples all over my body.