A group of tenderfeet watched an old hunter butcher a fat cow in almost the time it takes to tell of it, slitting the skin along the spine from the shoulder to the tail, and down in front of the shoulder and around the neck. He removed it as far down as the brisket and laid the freed skin on the ground to receive the fleece from along the spine, the protruding hump ribs, which he severed with a tomahawk; and then he added the liver, tongue, kidneys, certain parts of the intestine, and one shoulder. Severing the other shoulder and cutting the skin free on both sides of the body, he bundled up the choice cuts in it, carried it to his horse and returned to camp. In a few moments the butchering became general, and soon the triumphant hunters returned to the wagons with fresh meat enough to provide an unstinted feast for the entire caravan. The journey was resumed and the twenty miles to Cow Creek was made in good time. Here the difficulties of the Little Arkansas were again met and conquered and the wagons corralled before dark. It was at this camp that Tom and Hank became certain that they were being spied upon by Pedro and his companions. Seated around their fire, smoking with deep content after a heavy meal of fresh buffalo meat, Hank began to push his foot back and forth on the ground, making deeper and deeper, longer and longer, the groove his moccasin heel was slowly wearing in the soft earth. Finally his foot touched his companion's knee but, without pausing, kept wearing down the groove. "Th' geese went over early this year," he said, looking up at the starry sky. "Reckon we'll have th' hot weather a leetle ahead o' time on th' Dry Route." Tom did not change a muscle as the familiar, warning sentence struck his ears. "Yes," he replied. "Be glad when I gits inter Santa Fe, with th' cool mountains all around. Reckon you'll spend most o' your time playin' _monte_, an' be clean busted when it's time ter hit th' trail fer Bent's." Hank laughed softly. "Did I hear ye say Jim Ogden had some good likker?" he asked. "That's what I said." "'Tain't none o' that thar Taos lightnin'?" skeptically inquired Hank. "How could it be, him jest a-comin' from Missouri?" "Wall," chuckled Hank, slowly rising. "Reckon I'll wander over an' see fer myself. Jim must be considerable lonesome, 'bout now." "Must be, with only Zeb, Alonzo, Enoch, and a passel o' them fool tenderfeet a-settin' 'round his fire," snorted Tom. "Go ahead an' git yer likker; I'll wait fer ye hyar." It was only a few minutes later when Hank returned, shaking his head. "All gone," he mourned, and sat down again, regarding the dying embers. "Jest my luck." Tom laughed. "Yer better off without it," he replied, and communed with his thoughts.