The band arrived the first week in September, and Joe was again in his element. He spent every spare moment in the camp, but, much to his regret, learned that his old friend Yellow Calf was dead; he had died about a month before of sheer wearing out. He was nearer ninety than eighty, which he had given as his age to Joe. One of the younger of the principal men had been made chief in his place. He had been with the band every season when they camped on the creek, and also was a firm friend to Joe, so the boy had lost nothing except the presence of the old fellow who thought so much of him. One morning about the middle of April while the Indians were still on the Oxhide, and Joe as usual was in the camp, a warrior came in and reported a large herd of antelope on the Smoky Hill bottom; he said there were at least eight hundred of them. He proposed to Joe that they should go after them, and the boy agreed without any hesitation. The chief told them they had better take about half a dozen of the men with them; for if the antelope were out on the open prairie, they could not get near enough to them without a great deal of trouble. If they had some one to drive the herd toward them while they hid themselves in the tall grass, they could entice a number within range by using the usual strategy. Joe and the Indian, whose name was the White Wolf, started, taking with them seven men of the band as drivers. When they got out into the opening beyond the timber on the Oxhide, they discovered the large herd unsuspiciously grazing about two miles away. The seven Indians were then ordered to make a détour far beyond the animals, at least a mile from the far side of them, while Joe and White Wolf secreted themselves in a large patch of bunch-grass. This was out on the prairie about a hundred rods distant from the timber, and was pointed to by White Wolf so that his men would understand exactly what was required of them. Joe and the Indian who had remained behind with him, then walked leisurely toward the bunch of tall grass. They had plenty of time to prepare themselves, as it would take at least an hour before the Indians could get beyond the herd to move it. On the way to the prairie Joe had stopped at the ranch, to borrow the Spencer carbine for White Wolf, while he took his little Ballard rifle, that was only good for about a hundred and fifty yards, while the Spencer would carry a ball five hundred. They reached their hiding-place in plenty of time, for they lay there fully fifteen minutes before they saw a commotion among the antelope. The herd were observed to raise their heads as if they winded danger, and then making a few of their characteristic stiff-legged bounds, they stood alert as if preparing for flight. Joe knew by this that the animals had been startled by the Indians, though he could not see a sign of one of them.