CHAPTER IV. 



Tightening Girths The upland Plain " The Cattle upon a thousand 

 Hills "Stalking A Rogue Bull The Chase Missed The Boys pot 

 a Buffalo A Post-mortem Antelope Beaver. 



THE next day broke bright and clear the long-looked 

 for day when our first buffalo was to die. The time had 

 come when salt bacon at the rate of twenty-one times a 

 week was to be a thing of the past; the juicy steak, the 

 tender hump, the appetising tongue, were at hand, waiting 

 for us to go and get them. What were butchers' bills 

 to us ? Yet but for the hoof-prints in the sand, the last 

 night's spectacle might have been a dream. The last 

 straggling bull had disappeared. Doubtless the buffaloes 

 were feeding on the short, sweet, grama grass growing on 

 the upland. 



The morning's bacon was eaten with contempt. Our 

 " buffalo-runners " were saddled ; our arms and accoutre- 

 ments adjusted ; and about nine o'clock we waived our 

 hands to "the boys," and telling them to get hungry for 

 buffalo steak, rode forth to slay. 



A quiet walk across the valley to the foot of the bluff 

 gave time and opportunity for a smoke, for the saddles 



