After a short consultation they gallop off to the eastward. In half an hour's time, we can see them running the buffalo far out upon the prairie: piercing them with their arrows, and impaling them on their long lances. Those who have remained behind lead their horses down to the spring-branch, and back again to the grass. Now they chop down young trees, and carry faggots to the fires. See! they are driving long stakes into the ground, and stretching ropes from one to the other. For what purpose? We know too well. "Ha! look yonder!" mutters one of the hunters, as this is first noticed; "yonder goes the jerking-line! Now we're caged in airnest, I reckin." "Por todos santos, es verdad!" "Carambo! carrajo! chingaro!" growls the cibolero, who well knows the meaning of those stakes and lines. We watch with a fearful interest the movements of the savages. We have now no longer any doubt of their intention to remain for several days. The stakes are soon erected, running for a hundred yards or more along the front of the encampment. The savages await the return of their hunters. Some mount and scour off toward the scene of the buffalo battue, still going on, far out upon the plain. We peer through the leaves with great caution, for the day is bright, and the eyes of our enemies are quick, and scan every object. We speak only in whispers, though our voices could not be heard if we conversed a little louder, but fear makes us fancy that they might. We are all concealed except our eyes. These glance through small loopholes in the foliage. The Indian hunters have been gone about two hours. We now see them returning over the prairie in straggling parties. They ride slowly back. Each brings his load before him on the withers of his horse. They have large masses of red flesh, freshly skinned and smoking. Some carry the sides and quarters; others the hump-ribs, the tongue, the heart, and liver--the _petits morceaux_--wrapped up in the skins of the slaughtered animals. They arrive in camp, and fling their loads to the ground. Now begins a scene of noise and confusion. The savages run to and fro, whooping, chattering, laughing, and dancing. They draw their long scalping-knives, and hew off broad steaks. They spit them over the blazing fires. They cut out the hump-ribs. They tear off the white fat, and stuff the boudins. They split the brown liver, eating it raw! They break the shanks with their tomahawks, and delve out the savoury marrow; and, through all these operations, they whoop, and chatter, and laugh, and dance over the ground like so many madmen. This scene lasts for more than an hour. Fresh parties of hunters mount and ride off. Those who remain cut the meat into long thin strips, and hang it over the lines already prepared for this purpose. It is thus left to be baked by the sun into "tasajo."