The Last Herd 



&quot; I engaged you fellows, and you promised to stick 

 by me. We ve had no luck. But I ve finally found 

 sign old sign, I ll admit of the buffalo I m look 

 ing for the last herd on the plains. For two years 

 I ve been hunting this herd. So have other hunters. 

 Millions of buffalo have been killed and left to rot. 

 Soon this herd will be gone, and then the only 

 buffalo in the world will be those I have given ten 

 years of the hardest work in capturing. This is the 

 last herd, I say, and my last chance to capture a calf 

 or two. Do you imagine I d quit? You fellows go 

 back if you want, but I keep on.&quot; 



&quot; We can t go back. We re lost. We ll have 

 to go with you. But, man, thirst is not the only risk 

 we run. This is Comanche country. And if that 

 herd is in here the Indians have it spotted.&quot; 



&quot; That worries me some,&quot; replied the plainsman, 

 &quot; but we ll keep on.&quot; 



They slept. The night wind swished the grasses; 

 dark storm clouds blotted out the northern stars ; the 

 prairie wolves mourned dismally. 



Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a leaden 

 sky. The hunters traveled thirty miles by noon, and 

 halted in a hollow where a stream flowed in wet 

 season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into green ; 

 fLickets of prickly thorn, dense and matted, showed 

 bright spring buds. 



55 





