“Indiscriminate killing,” replied Chet. “So the books say. Yet in 1859 some people estimated that there were more buffaloes grazing these ranges than there were cattle in the whole country. “Of course, the Indians slaughtered many of them. They were the only beef the redmen had. The prairie Indians—the Comanches, Sioux and Pawnees—just about lived on buffalo meat all the year around. And their skins covered their winter teepees, clothed them in cold weather, and otherwise were made useful. Their hoofs made glue and their tendons were used by the squaws to sew with. Yes indeed! a buffalo was a mighty useful animal to a redskin.” “Well,” sighed Dig, “a buffalo is going to be a mighty useful animal to you and me, Chet—if we shoot one. Why, say! there won’t be another fellow in Silver Run who can show a buffalo head for a trophy.” “Well,” Chet said, “if you propose to cart head and all back to town you’ll have some contract, boy. I believe the head of a bull buffalo will weigh almost as much as the rest of his body.” “Whew!” “That’s what makes of him such a good battering-ram. They say a blow from the head of a two-months calf will knock a man over. Suppose Stone Fence had been a buffalo calf. When he rammed you into that creek you’d have been drowned.” “Huh! That’s straining a point,” replied Dig. “You can bet I’m not going to get in front of any of the creatures.” “And that’s where you’ll be wise. Especially if you want to shoot one,” Chet observed. “You might pump every ball in your rifle at the front of an old bull, and he’d only shake his head and whisk his tail like a horse bit by a fly. A bullet won’t bring down a bull, unless you are too close for comfort. Behind the foreleg is the place to aim at.” “Very well, Davy Crockett,” returned Dig. “I have taken your advice to heart.” Nevertheless, Digby admired his chum greatly because of Chet’s wider reading and better memory for practical things. Of course, Chet had been reading up on buffaloes ever since Rafe Peters and Tony Traddles reported seeing the stray herd near the Grub Stake trail. “Though I never expected that we’d sight them,” admitted Dig. “Whew! Suppose we do bag one of them, old man?” “That’s what we’re out here for,” his chum said. “Wait now till I spy out the land again.” He stood up in his stirrups and looked through the field-glasses. The focus of the instrument brought the group of feeding buffaloes very near. Chet counted them twice to make sure. “Sixteen, Dig!” he said, under his breath. “My goodness, boy! Wait till we get up to them.” “Do you see the big fellow? Or was that a yarn of Tony’s? I wouldn’t believe that fellow on a stack of Bibles as high as the moon.” “Rafe saw the big bull, too. Goodness! there he is!” “Where?” asked Dig, looking around, startled, as though expecting to see the buffalo right at hand. “He’s been feeding off by himself. He is coming from behind that clump of shrubs. Look at the monster, Dig!”