She began slicing the haunch into steaks. Joe and Tad separated the other haunch, and opened the belly cavity to get the liver. Of the front quarters they took only the choicest parts, and Joe used his saw to cut out the loin. He rolled the lightened carcass over on its side and sliced experimentally at the hump. He was surprised to find a ridge of bone there, and he stood to look down on it. Joe tried again, and failed, to remove the hump. He shrugged. Evidently, whoever had said that the hump was a choice part of any buffalo, didn't know what they were talking about. Joe, Emma and Tad worked with the meat, throwing away all tissue and bone and keeping only what was edible. Because they were working under adverse conditions, and without all the tools they needed, it took them longer than it would have taken to prepare a steer's carcass. But when they were finished, every meat box was filled and there was still much of the buffalo left. That night, the first in many, they camped among trees and had wood for their fire. Joe ate what seemed to be a vast quantity of buffalo liver, took a second helping, and was ashamed of himself. But Tad had four helpings and Emma and Barbara each had two. It was good eating, but there seemed to be in it a certain quality that enabled one to eat large quantities and still want more. Joe said happily, "Have some more, Joey? There's plenty." "I might try another little piece." Little Emma said, "I'm stuffed," and Alfred and Carlyle shook their heads. They sat around the festive board, completely relaxed and happy. Last night, after the crushing disappointment of missing the antelope and knowing they had more mud to face, near despair had reigned. Tonight they were on hard ground, with a wood fire, and there was more than plenty for everyone. They would get through. The next day the sun shone, and the day after that. But a cold wind still blew in from the north and there was a promise of things to come. It was a sinister promise, freighted with bitter and cold meanings, and Joe hurried the mules as much as he could. He gave thanks because the Trail remained dry and they could make good time. When he came to the river he stopped for a few minutes. It was a willow-bordered, slow-moving river that emptied into the Platte, and it seemed a gentle thing. The tired mules halted in their traces and Joe got down from the wagon seat. Mike and Tad beside him, he walked back and forth on the bank of the river and tried to find an answer to the riddle which he felt must exist here. The Trail went into the river and out the other side; other wagons had forded it. But there still seemed to be a question, and Joe was puzzled because he could see no reason to question. He could not see the bottom of the river, but it was muddy. How many other muddy rivers and creeks had he forded? "Reckon we can make it?" he asked Tad. "Other wagons made it." "Well, we can too."