One tenderfoot, better mounted than his fellows, managed to keep up with a running bull, firing ball after ball into it as fast as he could re-load. He was learning that a bull-buffalo was a hard animal to kill, and when it finally wheeled and charged him, he also learned that it was willing to fight when goaded and made desperate with wounds. Another greenhorn, to get better aim, dismounted and knelt on the earth. With the roar of his gun his horse, with all its trappings, gave one snort and ran away, joining the herd and running with it. It was an hour before anyone had time to listen to his entreaties, and then it was too late to go after the runaway animal. He hoofed it back to the caravan, an angry but wiser man, and was promptly robbed by the man from whom he bought a horse. It was an open question whether buffalo tongue or beaver tail was the better eating, but no one in the caravan had any fault to find with the portions of buffalo meat which fell to their lot. Despite the toughness and tastelessness of the old bull meat, it was the first fresh meat they had enjoyed since leaving Independence, with the exception of the few who had shared in Hank's antelope, and its poor qualities were overlooked. No one had a chance to gorge himself and to learn that overeating of buffalo flesh causes no distress. They found the meat with the fat and lean more intermixed, juicier, and of a coarser grain than beef. The choice bits were from the tongue, the udder came next in merit, followed by the hump-ribs, tenderloins, and marrow bones. They were fortunate in the selection of the bulls which had been killed, for they were quite fat and in this condition ran the cow meat a close race; all but one old bull, which was tough and stringy beyond belief. Despite the fact that the next camp spot was not very far ahead, the caravan nooned on the open prairie for the cooking of the fresh meat.