A Buffalo Story 
eat, but you might take his tongue.” His smile 
was changed to smothered laughter when he 
saw me attempting to carve up the corners 
of the animal’s mouth in order to take the 
tongue out between the teeth. He dis- 
mounted, and with a single cut beneath the 
under jaw showed me how to take out the 
tongue properly. 
As evening came on, small groups of buf- 
falo were seen dotting the plain. At sunrise 
we saw hundreds where the night before 
there had been only dozens. From this point 
on to Fort Wallace, we were never out of 
sight of these nomads of the “Great Ameri- 
can Desert.” From the higher points of our 
route, when the horizon was distant from ten 
to twenty miles, hundreds of thousands were 
visible at the same instant. They were not 
bunched together as cattle are, in droves, 
but were spread out with great regularity 
over the entire face of the land. 
On the third day of our march, a severe 
snow-storm set in, accompanied by a fierce 
north wind—a genuine ‘“norther.” This 
night we were compelled to leave the road 
and go to the Smoky Hill River for water. 
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