St. Vrain, having butchered three buffalo and taken choice bits from half a dozen others, offered the Indians the remainder of the carcasses. This was highly agreeable to them, as it offered meat and hides without a round of their own ammunition having been fired, and as St. Vrain and the _mayordomo_ gave the signal to go on, the red men dismounted and set swiftly to work to skin the fifty or sixty odd carcasses that lay thick about them. The _mayordomo_ informed the Indians that they were making haste to overtake a mythical division of their caravan which was ahead of them. And so the caravan passed on without a shot having been fired, or a drop of blood having been sacrificed, other than that of the great bison. It was late that night before Steven had the opportunity of satisfying his sharp appetite upon one of the juiciest, most delicious steaks he had ever eaten. An abundance of food now offered itself to the caravaners. Quail and grouse started up from underfoot, and at Diamond Springs, and later at Cottonwood Creek, the fish were so plentiful that they could be almost scooped out with the hands. But the caravan did not linger here nor make a camp as planned. Instead they forded the stream by moonlight. It proved deeper than the drivers had thought, so that the oxen had to swim with the heavy wagons behind them, and it was several hours before the entire caravan got safely across. There was no bivouacking until nearly dawn, by which time everyone was nearly devoured with mosquitoes. But nothing more was seen of Indians. They camped that night on a branch of the little Arkansas and the mosquitoes continued like a plague. From that time on good progress was made, at least fifteen miles each day. And this in spite of, or perhaps because of, the torment of flies which took the place of mosquitoes. Some of the mules ran off, wild with the fly-bitten sores for which there was no healing under the circumstances. They saw frequent bands of wild horses and traveled with buffalo constantly, sometimes parting the herds as they passed through them. The plains in the distance were dark with the shaggy coats of thousands of grazing beasts, moving in small herds of fifty to one hundred. Thousands of month-old buffalo calves frisked beside their mothers and the prairies were covered with great “buffalo rings” trodden in the grass by the vigilant bulls, circling the mothers and their young in defense against wolf and coyote. The caravaners often shot buffalo from the wagons as they passed and paused only long enough to cut the tidbits from the carcasses, especially the tongue and the hump. St. Vrain frowned on this wantonness however, and gave orders not to shoot unless food was needed. Some of the trappers dried a quantity of the meat, stringing small strips and tying a lineful along the sides of the wagon to dry in the sun and air.