while I turned to the north, so as to approach the buffalo
simultaneously. I came in sight of the band first, my partner having a
farther ride to make, but had only a few moments to wait, before I
noticed the quarry take alarm, and the next instant Priest dashed out
from behind a spur of the hill and was after them, I following suit.
They turned westward, and when The Rebel and I came together on the
angle of their course, we were several hundred yards in their rear. My
bunkie had the best horse in speed by all odds, and was soon crowding
the band so close that they began to scatter, and though I passed
several old bulls and cows, it was all I could do to keep in sight of
the calves. After the chase had continued over a mile, the staying
qualities of my horse began to shine, but while I was nearing the
lead, The Rebel tied to the largest calf in the bunch. The calf he had
on his rope was a beauty, and on overtaking him, I reined in my horse,
for to have killed a second one would have been sheer waste. Priest
wanted me to shoot the calf, but I refused, so he shifted the rope to
the pommel of my saddle, and, dismounting, dropped the calf at the
first shot. We skinned him, cut off his head, and after disemboweling
him, lashed the carcass across my saddle. Then both of us mounted
Priest's horse, and started on our return.

On reaching the horse stock, we succeeded in catching a sleepy old
horse belonging to Rod Wheat's mount, and I rode him bridleless and
bareback to camp. We received an ovation on our arrival, the recovery
of the saddle horses being a secondary matter compared to the buffalo
veal. "So it was buffalo that scared our horses, was it, and ran them
out of camp?" said McCann, as he helped to unlash the calf. "Well,
it's an ill wind that blows nobody good." There was no particular loss
of time, for the herd had grazed away on our course several miles, and
after changing our mounts we overtook the herd with the news that not