“You killed one, all right, Left-over,” asserted the Reverend. “I saw you. You killed him six times and once more for luck.” “No, I didn’t, either!” disputed Left-over. “I killed seven, mebbe more. I shot seven times.” “Which is it, Reverend?” asked Hi. The Reverend Mr. Baxter pointed, with a grin; and grinning, Hi and Jim rode forward to inspect. Davy went, too; he was certain that a couple of buffalo had fallen to his revolver, and as there were only three on this end of the wagon, he did not see where Left-over’s seven could be. Hi and Jim were gazing down upon a huge buffalo bull, who lay with his nose touching the fore wheel of the wagon. He made a great pool of blood, which flowed from wounds in his head and his shoulders and back and legs and everywhere, apparently. “You certainly peppered him, Left-over,” assured Hi. “I reckon he’s dead.” “Did I do all that?” queried Left-over. And he began to strut. “Well, I think that’s pretty good. If I hadn’t been here he’d have run right over the wagon. I picked him out on purpose. But I must have killed a lot more.” And chattering and strutting he roamed about, every few seconds returning to examine the holes that he had made or to thrust the carcass with his toes or to proclaim how large it was. “You surely made your mark. Now you can rest a while,” chuckled Jim. “What’s your count, Billy?” “Two at my end,” reported Billy, who had shot and killed, and had reloaded like lightning and shot and killed again. “And two for Davy, and another who’s dropped yonder; and those that Jim and I got. That makes a mess,” said Hi. “Wall, reckon we’d better butcher ’fore the wolves spoil the meat. You fellows go ahead here, and Jim and I’ll fetch in the rest.” “Davy didn’t do so bad, himself; did he?” remarked Mr. Baxter, climbing out of the wagon. “Did you aim, Davy?” “No,” confessed Davy; “not after the first shot. My eyes were full of buffalo.” “Mine’s the biggest, anyhow,” boasted Left-over. “If I hadn’t shot him so much he’d have got away.” With Davy and Left-over helping the best that they could, Billy and the Reverend dressed the buffaloes that were near the wagon; and before they were done Hi and Jim came in, packing the best portions of those lying out in the wake of the herd. Even though only the best parts――the humps and rib roasts――were taken, the outfit had what looked to be more meat than they could use. But Hi and Jim were up to snuff. “We’ll jerk this as we go,” said Hi. “Cut it into strips, fellows.” So they cut much of the meat into strips about two inches wide and as thick as one’s finger and a foot long, and hung it on cord all around the wagon, row after row. So dry was the air and so pure out here in the great open plains that before the wagon had travelled an hour the strips already were curing hard and dark. They resembled strips of leather. That considerable dust settled on them apparently did no harm.