delight," replied Jack, as he handed over a dime with rather bad
grace.

That evening a neighbor called on us as we sat about our
camp-fire, and we told him the experience with the cows.

[Illustration: Milking the Heifer that Wore a Sleigh-Robe]

"Puts me in mind of the time a fellow had over at the Santee
Agency a year or so ago," said our visitor. "There's a man there
named Hawkins that's got a tame buffalo cow. Of course you might
as well try to milk an earthquake as a buffalo. Well, one day a
man came along looking for work, and Hawkins hired him.
Milking-time came, and Hawkins sent the man out to milk, but
forgot to tell hint about the buffalo. The man was a little
green, and it was sort of dark in the barn, and the first thing
he tried to milk was the buffalo cow. She kicked the pail through
the window, smashed the stall, and half broke the man's leg the
first three kicks. He hobbled to the house, and says to Hawkins:
'Old man, that there high-shouldered heifer of yourn out there
has busted the barn and half killed me, and I reckon I'll quit
and go back East, where the cows don't wear sleigh-robes and kick
with four feet at once.'"

Bright and early the next morning we got off again. Nothing
of importance happened that day. We were travelling through a
comparatively old-settled part of the country, and the houses
were numerous. A young Indian rode with us a few miles, but he
was a very civilized sort of red man. He had been at work on a
farm down near Yankton, and was on his way to the Ponca