THE WOLF HUNTERS 



the time lost in being delayed by the jayhawkers 

 and lengthened our drives accordingly. 



We were now fairly launched on the plains and 

 would see little more timber and no habitations 

 of white men except an occasional trading ranch 

 at the crossing of some creek along the road. We 

 were nearing the eastern edge of the buffalo range. 



The road from Fort Riley, that we had formerly 

 travelled in going out to the Arkansas River and 

 back, enters the Santa Fe road here at Lost 

 Springs. At this camp there was no timber and 

 no running water — merely a series of water-holes 

 strung along a prairie hollow. This had long been 

 a well-known camping ground; but where the 

 springs were from which it takes the name I 

 never knew, for I never saw any. 



We pitched our tent near where the Fort Riley 

 road enters the Santa Fe and after supper at- 

 tended to the usual camp work. After we had 

 groomed and fed our animals the Irishman and I 

 strolled up to the ranch to renew old acquain- 

 tance with the proprietor. Jack Costillo, also an 

 Irishman, whom we had previously known as a 

 soldier in the Mounted Rifle Regiment in New 

 Mexico. 



Costillo was delighted to meet us again and, of 

 course, set out his best for us. We spent a couple 

 of hours very pleasantly talking over old times 

 with him and then returned to our camp. As we 

 walked along, thinking of the Italian name borne 



88 



